


Written in the Stars

by BatMads



Series: Stars Above [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Chris is a symapthetic sweethart, F/F, F/M, Kinda a college! AU?, M/M, Slow Burn, Strip to Stop Suicide, Victor writes poetry, Yuri is in a relationship, Yuri loves the stars, Yurio is literally 12, but victuuri endgame, everyone makes many bad decisions, pining!victor, slow burn to end all slow burns, theia is such a mom, will be in comments, yuri gets drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2018-11-19 21:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 126,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11322216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatMads/pseuds/BatMads
Summary: After Yakov decides to take a break from coaching skating to focus on his crumbling relationship with his wife and soulmate, Lilia, Victor is forced to move away from his beloved home rink to Detroit so he can begin training under Celestino Ciandini. With his young friend Yurio in tow, they befriend their new rink mates and are quickly folded into a new little family unlike any Victor has had before.





	1. Chapter 1

**_August, 2015_ **

Victor tilted his head back to study the building in front of him. Beside him, Yuri scowled. Twelve years old and already so pugnacious. Victor shuddered to think about what the boy would be like as he grew older. ‘Detroit Skating Club’ was spelled out in big blue letters on the side of the awning above the door. It was hideous. He remembered the beautiful rink back home in Petersburg, with the soft blue pillars and the surrounding park. He wished he had never left. He wished Yakov had never decided to retire, even “temporarily” so he _had_ to leave. But there was no changing things now.

“Remind me _why_ we had to come to fucking _Detroit_ of all places instead of staying in Russia?” Yuri asked.

Victor sighed and stepped towards the glass door. He pulled it open with a little more force than was probably necessary.

“Because Yakov wanted to focus on salvaging things with Lilia before it was too late and after him, Cialdini is the best coach in the business. Yakov said so. This is who he wants us skating under now. So here we are. Also, watch your language”

Yuri’s scowl deepened, but he followed Victor inside the building nevertheless.

“Sounds like a stupid reason,” he said.

“Next year, you’ll be competing in the Juniors,” Victor replied. “Do you want an okay coach or the best coach to help get you ready for that and then guide you through?”

“The best,” Yuri grumbled.

“Alright, well…this is the best coach,” Victor said. “Yakov trusts him. Hell, Yakov _coached_ him, before he got injured, that is. Now, you can keep complaining or—”

“Victor?” Someone asked. “Victor Nikiforov and Yuri Plisetsky?”

Victor turned. A short, tan-skinned boy was rushing towards him. Victor estimated that he was around 15 or 16. That would be Phichit Chulanout, then. Victor had been careful to do his research before he’d shown up at the club. He wanted to know who all of the top skaters here were. He wanted to know how well they had competed in the past, wanted to know what kind of people they were in general to make sure that this place really would be a good place for him and Yuri. He smiled.

“That’s right.”

Phichit held out his hand. “I’m Phichit. I’m one of Celestino’s current students.”

Victor nodded. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said, shaking Phichit’s hand firmly.

Phichit grinned broadly. “It’s nice to meet you too. Now, Celestino sent me to greet you both. He wanted to make sure that I gave you a full tour, if that’s alright?”

Yuri scoffed and looked away. Victor sighed internally. Leave it to Yuri to be difficult even when Phichit was being so pleasant.

“That sounds wonderful!” Victor said. He expanded his smile to match Phichit’s, put on the persona of Victor Nikiforov, figure skating legend.

“Great,” Phichit said, bobbing his head. “Right this way!”

Victor and Yuri trailed after Phichit as he took them around the rink’s facilities: the weight room, the two practice rinks, the dance studio. Everywhere there was to go in the building, Phichit took them. He ended the tour in the locker room, where he handed Victor a roll of duct tape and a sharpie.

“Celestino has the locks,” Phichit said, “but for now, you can mark out a permanent locker for yourself. Yuri’s better at explaining the locker room system than I am, but we’re all along this wall. We—”

Phichit was cut off as the locker room door flew open. Two men rushed in, all abustle. One of them was a stranger, the other Victor recognized immediately. Katsuki Yuri. The one skater he had researched most ardently. Katsuki’s personal life was shrouded in shadows, his social media accounts inactive and his interviews stiffly formal. He was from Japan, Victor knew, and he had moved here two years ago to join the skate club and start college at the nearby university. He was 20 years old. He had potential, but always seemed to sabotage himself and give in to the pressure of high-stakes competitions.

He was, Victor couldn’t help but notice, also surprisingly attractive in person.

“You’re late,” Phichit warned.

“I know,” Yuri huffed. He spun the through his combination quickly and whipped open his locker. “I was doing stuff.”

The man standing next to Yuri blushed strongly enough that it showed through his dark skin.

“I’m stuff,” he said with a small, wondrous smile.

Yuri dropped his bag in the locker and quickly changed out of his shorts and into a pair of sweats. He grabbed his skates from where they were sitting on the top shelf, then leaned over and kissed his friend (boyfriend?) on the lips.

“I’ll see you later,” he said. “And I love you.”

“I love you too,” came the reply. “And damn right you’ll see me later; we never got to finish what we started.”

Yuri blushed and they kissed again, quickly. Before Victor could really take the time to fully appreciate Yuri’s presence however, he was moving again, leaving as quickly as he had come.

“Knock ‘em dead babe!” The other man shouted just as Yuri reached the door.

Yuri flashed a thumbs up and then he was gone. The man turned and smiled merrily at Phichit.

“So how are you today?” he asked.

Phichit chuckled. “If you keeping making him late, Patrick, Ciao Ciao is going to kill you.”

“You know, Phichit, I’m inclined to agree with you on that, but in my defense, for once, this is not my fault.”

Phichit snorted. “Sure it’s not,”

“It really isn’t,” Patrick argued, “but I’m willing to believe Ciao Ciao will believe that as much as you do. Which means I should probably get going. If the man asks, we were studying.”

Patrick pushed off of where he was leaning against the row of lockers. “Dinner. Tonight. Seven o’clock. Colonel’s. Be there or be attacked by a deadly, venomous rattle snake.”

Phichit rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Whatever, Patrick.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

They hugged quickly, and then Patrick was walking off as well. Before he reached the door, he turned.

“And bring your new friends,” he said, jerking his head towards Victor and Yuri. “They look interesting.”

The door slammed heavily behind him and he was gone. Victor blinked. The two of them—Patrick and Yuri—had moved like a whirlwind. It was almost impossible to believe they had ever been there at all, if not for the fact that Yuri hadn’t finished locking up his locker and it now stood wide open next to Victor. Phichit sighed, but there was a certain fondness in the sound.

“So that’s Yuri and Patrick,” Phichit said. “Our resident lovebirds, we like to joke. They’ve been dating since they were eighteen—pretty much two years now.”

“Wow,” Victor said. he still felt a little flustered for the rapid arrival and departure. “That’s really…are they…”

He trailed off, the word he hadn’t said hanging heavily in the air between him and Phichit. Soulmates. Everyone had one, but not everyone always found theirs. Victor was still holding out hope that he would meet his someday. He’d been holding out hope since he had woken up two years ago to the painful stinging sensation along his back left shoulder blade when his soulmate had gotten a tattoo there. It was of the Sagittarius constellation—Victor had scrambled for his phone and searched endlessly until he had found the match. Two years and…nothing. But for two people to have been dating as long as Yuri and Patrick had, that usually meant they had been luckier than Victor had been.

Phichit blushed and reached over to close up Yuri’s locker. He was careful to test the lock to make sure it wasn’t about to open again.

“No,” Phichit said. “But that doesn’t matter. They may as well be, after all this time. Honestly, I can’t think of anyone better for either of them. They’re perfect together. They’re the kind of relationship I want to have one day.”

“Oh,” Victor said.

Phichit nodded and they stood together a moment longer in silence.

“You should probably finish doing that,” Phichit said, nodding at the supplies he had placed in Victor’s hands before Yuri’s entrance.

“We’re arranged by age, so you’ll be next to Yuri. Yuri, you’ll be next to me once Victor’s done, alright?”

Yuri scoffed, but Victor took to writing his name down, as instructed. On the locker next to him, Yuri’s name had been written on his piece of duct tape twice: once in English, once in his native Japanese. The tape had been decorated with little doodles of stars. Taking the cue from the absent Yuri, Victor wrote his name twice too, ripped off the piece of tape, and stuck it carefully on the locker Phichit had designated, parallel to the vents.

Task complete, Victor handed the tape and the sharpie off to Yuri, then stowed his things neatly in the locker. For better or worse, this was going to be his new home now. It was an eerie thought, and Victor tried not to delve too deeply into it. Even if Victor could understand Yakov’s decision to retire so he could work on his relationship with his estranged wife and soulmate, the announcement had still stung. He had been born and raised in Petersburg. Had gone to school there. Skated and trained there. Never had he even begun to imagine what it would be like to leave, possibly for good.

“Great,” Phichit said, clapping his hands once together when they were finished. “Now that you’re settled, let’s go meet Celestino. He’s been looking forward to meeting you both, I know.”

Phichit turned and started for the exit. Victor looked wearily down at Yuri, who glared up at him.

“We should have stayed in Russia,” Yuri snapped in their native tongue.

Victor sighed. This was for the best, he tried to tell himself. It really was for the best.

OOO

After practice, Phichit and Yuri led Victor and the younger Yuri to Colonel’s, as a part of what was, apparently, a weekly event. At some point, Victor was not sure when, it had been determined that he and Yuri would be folded into the familial group that Yuri and Phichit were a part of in Detroit. He wasn’t necessarily complaining; it was nice, after all, to make friends with so little effort on his part, but it did feel a little odd. It felt…permanent somehow. More permanent than he wanted this transition to be. It was a finally a surrender to the fact that he would no longer be living in St. Petersburg, and training with Yakov, and spending his spare time with the small group of skaters that he had grown up with.

If Yuri felt similarly, he didn’t mention it. He continued to be his usual, moody self. His grandfather had charged Victor with being something of a guardian for the other boy while the two of them were here, and Victor had every intention of fulfilling that role to the best of his abilities. He had an innate respect for Yuri’s grandfather, not least because he was a gentle, caring man, the kind of man who would let a stranger stay for lunch if they asked and be friends with them by the end of an hour, the kind of man who treated all life with a sacred sort of respect. Victor didn’t know what had happened to Yuri’s mother and had never bothered to ask. He had his grandpa, and that was enough.

He probably missed his grandpa, Victor realized. Hell, Victor missed him. Yakov and Grandpa Plisetsky had taught Victor more about what it meant to be a man than anyone else ever had. At twenty-four, he was already becoming something of a legend in the skating world, but it was the approval of those two elders that he always sought first.

Colonel’s was a run-down sort of diner, timeless in its age. It felt so stereotypically American that Victor had to remind himself that he was not, in fact, imagining it or over-emphasizing its qualities in his mind. Yuri—the other Yuri, the Japanese one—made a beeline for the seat next to his boyfriend the moment they walked in. Phichit laughed softly to himself and made introductions once they had reached the table.

“Patrick you’ve met,” Phichit said, gesturing to the darker-skinned man, “though I don’t think very formally.”

Patrick smiled and gave a little wave. He had one arm resting over the back of Yuri’s chair. Yuri was leaning into him a little.

“So you two are really from Russia?” Patrick asked.

Victor’s Yuri dropped into a chair on the other side of the table with a scowl.

“Where else would we be from you fucking moron?” he asked.

“Language, Yuri,” Victor muttered.

Patrick’s brows flicked up in silent surprise. He turned to Yuri.

“I like him. Let’s find a way to keep him.”

Yuri flushed a little. “You can’t just decide you want to keep random people you’ve just met, P-chan.”

Patrick frowned. “But I want one.”

Yuri chuckled. “Then maybe, if you’re nice, he’ll let you be his friend.”

Patrick perked up at this suggestion. “Yuri, will you be my friend?”

The twelve year old’s scowl deepened. “No way in hell.”

Patrick sunk down a little.

The girl sitting beside him laughed and reached her arm across the table, towards Victor.

“I’m Theia,” she said. “I’ve known these dorks since we were freshman.”

“Oh, to be young again,” Patrick objected. “To return to our days of sweet and wild youth.”

The look Theia shot Patrick was exasperated, but fond. He beamed at her, and a moment later, Theia turned back to Victor.

“We’re a pretty funky crowd, but I promise we won’t bite,” she said. “Honestly, it’s nice to meet new people. These weirdos can get annoying sometimes.”

Victor couldn’t help but smile at that. They all had an easy familiarity to the way the sat together, talked to one another. It was almost like if they were a family. He sank happily into the seat next to his Yuri and Phichit settled into the chair placed next to him, at the end of the table.

“So it’s Victor and Yuri, right?” Patrick asked, pointing to each of them in turn. “Phichit and Yuri have told us a little bit about you guys, but I’m really bad with names. And faces. And just people in general, really.”

Victor laughed. “Yes. And do you prefer to go by ‘stuff’ or ‘Patrick’?”

Both Patrick and Yuri flushed deeply.

“Patrick,” he mumbled. “Only Yuri can call me stuff.”

Victor smiled. They were adorable, both of them, blushing like that. Yuri especially. He had always liked being around other people, and had been quietly worried that he somehow wouldn’t fit in here, that he would have permanently lost the flock of friends he’d surrounded himself with in Petersburg. He had been determined then, to work hard and make new friends here. He was pleased at how little effort it was taking on his part, and how much he liked everyone here already.

“Good to know,” Victor replied smoothly.

Patrick smiled a little, but it quickly turned into a frown. He propped his head on his hand and stared at the other Yuri—Victor’s Yuri.

“Having two Yuri’s around is going to be confusing,” he grumbled. “Squad, you got any suggestions?”

“We could call him ‘ _maew_ ,’” Phichit supplied, “or ‘ _nit._ ’”

“Phichit, babe, I love you, but I have no idea what either of those mean.”

“What about Yuri P.,” Theia said. “Simple, straight forward, makes logical sense.”

Patrick furrowed his brow. “’Yuri P.’ is long winded. I talk fast, Thee. I need something I can say quickly.”

“Yurio,” Yuri said.

Patrick snapped his fingers. “Fucking perfect. Does that work for you, Yurio, or would you rather it be something else?”

Yuri—or Yurio now, Victor supposed—scowled. He had another nickname, Victor knew. ‘Yura.’ Yakov had used it sometimes. It was what Yurio’s grandfather called him. Somehow, though, Victor doubted that Yurio was about to let these strangers call him that.

“You geniuses really can’t come up with anything better?” he asked.

“Nope,” Patrick replied cheerfully.

“Then I guess that’s fine.”

“Awesome!” Patrick said. “Now, I feel awful and uncomfortable because I’m dominating the conversation so someone please stop me. Theia, lovely, how was your day today?”

Theia smiled and launched into her story. Yuri and Phichit would ask questions every now and then, but Patrick stayed quiet, head rested on Yuri’s shoulder, smiling happily. Even if they weren’t soulmates, Victor had to admit they were cute together. He had never had that. Not really. There had been flings, here and there. One night stands. But he’d never committed himself to anyone before. He tried to tell himself it was because he was waiting for his soulmate, that he wouldn’t find that person he really clicked with until he met them, but sometimes, seeing couples like Yuri and Patrick who didn’t need that cosmic bond to hold them together, Victor couldn’t help but wonder if he was missing out on some great secret of life. It was a depressing thought, and he pushed it away quickly. Everyone had a soulmate waiting for them, and he would find his eventually, and precisely when he was meant to. No sooner or later. That was just the way life worked.

After Theia finished telling her tale, Victor did his best to engage his new friends in conversation and learn more about them. Theia responded most frequently, although Phichit or Patrick would chime in here or there. Yurio kept to himself, choosing to scroll through Instagram on his phone instead of actually answering any of the questions that Theia gently sent his way. Yuri didn’t talk much either, a fact that Victor found slightly disappointing. He wanted to get to know the mysteriously private Japanese skater who was to be his new rink-mate. Getting to know everyone else was wonderful, but Yuri was the enigma that Victor really wanted to crack open.

All in all, the food at the diner was fine. Typically American. The proprietor, a man named Donald, was familiar enough with Phichit and the rest that he teased them amicably as he took their orders and asked them about their day. He eyed Victor and Yurio thoughtfully when they were introduced but gave them a warm welcome all the same. Victor ordered for himself and then made a guess at what Yurio would want. The younger boy was too proud to admit that he didn’t read English well enough to understand the menu and he had quickly shot down Victor’s attempts to help.

The group of friends insisted on paying for Yurio and Victor’s dinner after they had finished and Victor, after a lengthy debate, finally conceded. He resolved himself silently to cover the bill at any future outings. Once that was settled, the six of them wandered out onto the street in a small wave. It was getting late, but the sun was only just starting to set. A pang went through Victor’s heart as he thought of summer days back home in Petersburg, which seemed sometimes to stretch on forever. That was another thing he had never counted on losing that was lost to him now.

“Graeme’s?” Phichit asked, snapping Victor out of his reverie.

Theia crinkled her nose. “As wonderful as that sounds…I’m full. And tired. And almost people-d out for the evening, as much as I love you all.”

Patrick was already starting to tug on Yuri’s wrist.

“We have unfinished business.” He said simply.

Yuri turned red up to his ears and Patrick blushed a little at his own words too.

“Sorry, Phichit,” Theia said. “Next time maybe, but it looks like you have no dice on this one tonight.”

Phichit sighed, then gave each of his friends a hug. It was a familiar ritual, Victor could see. One that even Patrick and Yuri participated in, separating from each other long enough to hug Theia goodnight as well. He was surprised when Phichit pulled him into a quick hug as well.

“It was nice to meet you, Victor,” Phichit mumbled.

Oh, he hadn’t realized how much he needed this. He hugged Phichit tightly back.

“It was nice to meet you too.”

All too soon, Phichit had stepped away. Yurio scowled and backed away before Phichit could hug him too, and Phichit laughed before starting down the street. Theia traipsed after him.

“See you tomorrow!” Phichit called.

“Or at least sometime this week!”

Yuri and Patrick laughed and then set off in another direction. Patrick lifted his hand in a quiet goodbye, but Yuri barely acknowledged them. It left Victor feeling strangely empty, but he resolved himself to get to know his new rink-mate better in the coming days.

“They’re strange,” Yurio snorted.

“I like them,” Victor chirped. Together the two of the started walking off towards Victor’s apartment.

“Well, you’re strange too.”

Victor chuckled and they fell into silence for a moment. Around them, the warm evening air hummed with life. A few cars drove by. Somewhere, a fire engine was blaring. A bass pounded out onto the street from an open window. It was an area removed from Detroit proper, but it was a college town, and even now, in the middle of the summer, the remnants of that showed. It wasn’t Petersburg, wasn’t a proper city neighborhood and it never would be. There would never be the same seagulls, or parks, or people. Detroit lacked the history and meaning that graced every aspect of Petersburg’s existence. And this section of the world away from Detroit lacked even the universal qualities of all cities. It was horrendous, but it was life now.

“I hate it here,” Yurio muttered. “It smells.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

Yurio snorted and Victor heard all the words he wasn’t saying in the sound.

_I don’t want to get used to it._

Victor didn’t dare voice that he felt the same way. Because, despite everything, he held out the hope that this could be good. This could work out for the two of them. And if all else failed, they would always have each other.

They walked the rest of the way back to Victor’s apartment in silence. Makkachin greeted them at the door and Victor was silently grateful that he had been able to bring his poodle with him. Makkachin had been his companion through everything; making this transition without him would have been impossible.

Yurio, true to form, turned up his nose at the slobbering dog and crashed on the futon sitting alone in the middle of the room. Boxes, some opened, many still packaged shut, were stacked on the floor around it. Victor had only moved in yesterday and had only managed to muster the strength to set up the futon for Yurio to stay on for the time being. Eventually, they both knew that Yurio would be asked to move into the housing shared by all the non-local junior skaters, but Yurio was intent on staying with Victor for now and Victor wasn’t overly inclined to compel him to leave.

He liked having the younger skater around. It reminded him a little bit of home.

Makkachin sat down by the door and whined and Victor looked about the room quickly before reaching for the lead hanging from the hook by the door. A poem unfolded in his mind, or rather, the bones of a poem. Just a drabble about boxes and dreams and starting over. He snagged his notebook and pencil from the training bag he had brought with him to the rink before clipping up Makkachin and heading out for their walk. He could work on his poem-skeleton while they were out.

The darkness had closed around the huddles apartments and houses and buildings lining his new street in the short time he’d been inside with Yuri, and Victor shuddered, despite the warm night air. It was farm more suburban here than it was back home. More settled. The whole scene conjured stereotypical images of American barbeques and kids playing in the street. A peaceful enough life, he supposed.

He had never really cared for a peaceful life.

There was a park up the road and Victor walked with Makkachin through it. A few stars managed to speckle the night sky. If could gather them all up in one hand, they would barely fill his palm, but still. There were more stars here than he had ever been able to see in Petersburg.

 _What stars are these/that grace the evening skies?_ he thought to himself as he watched them shine above. _Are they the same stars that twinkle/beyond my city’s lights?_

He dashed the poem before it could get any farther. Something about it just didn’t feel right yet. But he liked that opening line. _What stars are these/that grace the evening skies?_

He had studied poetry in college back home. He’d enjoyed it, too. And the professors had always liked what he had written. After skating…after skating, if he didn’t end up as someone’s coach or doing something in the skating community, he had always thought that perhaps he would be a poet. There was the same sort of artistry to writing poems as there was in skating; not the overt meaning of a novel or a short story, but a sort of derived meaning, brought together based of how the poet presented their subject. In skating, he told his story through spins and jumps and step sequences. In poetry, he told his story through meter and enjambment and tone. Same concept, just a different medium.

Another car drove down the street. He could hear people talking, somewhere, probably a couple or a family on a stroll through the park. The bones of the poem he had been thinking of earlier came back to him, and he tugged Makkachin over to a park bend so he could sit down and write and try and flesh it out. He wrote down the “What Stars” couplet first and followed it up with the lines he had immediately thought of so that he could fiddle with them later and then started his other poem on the next page. He closed his eyes after the first line to get a sense for his new living room again—the way it looked with all the boxes stacked up around in. And then he started writing again.

 _Boxes stacked about this_  
_Empty room and I think_  
_I could build a castle_  
_Here I could build a  
_ _Home here_

 _I remember being_  
_A little boy in Petersburg_  
_Building forts and trains and podiums_  
_Out of old boxes using_  
_The empty cardboard to  
_ _Build up my dreams._

 _Surrounded now again by boxes_  
_Filled with scraps of my life_  
_Stacked about the room_  
_Older now but just as ready  
_ _To build my cardboard dreams again._

He studied it for a moment when he was done and then scrawled a name for the poem in the little margin at the top of the page—"Cardboard Houses." He’d probably fiddle with it later, change the way the lines broke or maybe some of the words he used, but all in all, not bad. He shut his notebook with a sigh and looked down to where Makka was panting up at him.

“It’s really something we’ve gotten into here, isn’t it, Makka?” He asked the poodle.

Makkachin whined and stepped forward to rub his nose against Victor’s knee before sitting back down again.

“I’m glad you’re here, even if it meant a little extra trouble. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Makka’s tail thumped twice against the ground and Victor reached over to scratch behind his ears.

“You’re a good dog, Makkachin,” he whispered, “and an even better friend.”

Makkachin twisted to lick Victor’s wrist and then leaped up and started sniffing around in earnest. Victor chucked.

“Alright, alright, do your business and then we can head back.”

He couldn’t bring himself to call the new apartment ‘home.’ Not yet. He’d barely been living there for a day or two. He had no more emotional attachment to the place than he had for any of the hotel rooms he stayed at during competitions. For now, it was just a place where he happened to live. Nothing more, nothing less. Maybe it would be, in a few months, a few years even, though he shuddered at the reality that he may be here that long. If he was lucky, Yakov would sort out whatever was going on between he and Lilia and come back to skating sooner rather than later, and Victor and Yurio would be able to go back to home to Petersburg where they belonged. If he was slightly less lucky, he would eventually come to like it here, with the quiet summer streets, and the other skaters at the club.

He tried not to think about what would happen if he was severely _un-_ lucky and what kind of personal hell that would be. No true friends. No settling into life here. Never being happy again.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Victor told Makkachin when the poodle was done doing its business. “I liked the people I met today, so it’s more likely than not that it won’t be like that it all. And it won’t be Petersburg, but maybe it can be home, ya?”

Makkachin tugged on the leash, eager to go sniffing at a patch of grass, which Victor obliged with a chuckle. He glanced up at the stars again when he did, picked one out and made a wish. Perhaps that would be one perk out of everything that had happened. Here, at least, he would have stars that he could wish on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So this is a preview because I know you guys don't like waiting ~~and also because I hit a major slump this week and was quickly losing inspiration~~. 
> 
> I'll probably update the summary with Muse later, but...yeah. Victuuri is endgame, don't worry! But, in my typical fashion, a lot of slow burn pain needs to come first. I am still working on this, so it won't be updated again after this until I'm done (unless Muse and I decide to do another preview). Once I'm done though, chapters will be published every other day (they're long, by my usual, and hopefully there won't be a ridiculous amount of them, given how long this piece is going to end up being). 
> 
> Let me know what you guys think below and I'm going to get back to writing!


	2. Chapter 2

The weeks ticked by faster than Victor thought they would. It was a bit of a relief, if not a little disconcerting, that the days were so similar, so unremarkable here that they slid by without notice. If he was lucky, the time spent here instead of in his beloved Petersburg would hardly seem like anything at all. In the meantime, he had started working on his programs for the year. For now, he was fiddling with the theme of “Changes,” inspired by a song of the same name that had come on the radio during practice one day. He was toying with making the entire season a dedication to the singer, David Bowie, who had always been one of Victor’s favorites, but he needed to find the music that felt right first. 

Yuri remained emotionally distant. They were friendly with each other, sure, exchanging hellos when they met in the locker room before practice. Victor always asked about Patrick when he wasn’t there, and said hello and chatted with the other man if he was. Patrick, it seemed, had a small tendency to cause Yuri to be late for practice. Phichit always laughed it off, but something about the habit, or the attitude, rubbed Victor the wrong way. Perhaps it would be for the best, then, if he and Yuri didn’t get to know each other any better. Phichit, with his love for social media and generally chatty nature, was easier for Victor to befriend anyways. 

Yurio, much like Yuri, was determined not to be friendly with anyone. 

School started and Yurio was required to go to the international school with all of the skaters who hadn’t yet started college. He came over to Victor’s after classes were done for the day and complained heartily while Victor tried to help him with his homework. Phichit was a big help and tutored or found friends to tutor Yurio in the subjects where Victor was weakest. Because of the shift in the schedule, Victor was alone at practice most days with Yuri, who was attending the nearby university, and who didn’t have classes until later in the afternoon most days. Again, Victor tried to bridge the gap between the two of them, but Yuri nervously mumbled some short answer then went over to skate in the other half of the rink. When Victor asked Celestino about it, the man sighed and told Victor to be patient. It took Yuri time to warm up to people, apparently. 

There was one thing Victor hadn’t anticipated that came with the start of the school year. He had started spending a great deal of his free time on the campus of the university that Yuri, Patrick, and Theia attended. With Yurio and Phichit at school, his only other option was to lounge around his apartment alone with Makkachin. He was sitting in his usual armchair in the student center today, or “Frye” as Yuri and the others liked to call it (after some fine philanthropist alumna who had footed the bill for the place), reading Voznesensky by the big floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake. Theia had been sitting with him earlier, but she had left to go to class and he’d been left alone with his poetry. He didn’t know when she’d be back. 

“You know,” Patrick said, collapsing in the seat next to him. “I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned going to college yourself, Victor.”

Yuri, as usual, was with his boyfriend. It seemed that they were as attached as the moon to the Earth. 

Of the two, Victor always imagined Yuri as the moon. 

The barest whisper of a poem slipped through his mind and it itched at him too much to be tucked away to think about later. He penned it in the margin before he grabbed his bookmark and put down his poetry. 

_ I’ll be your moon _ __   
_ in an empty room _ _   
_ __ filled with just us and the stars

“What do you want to know?” He asked. 

“Where’d you go? Did you go anywhere? What did you study?” Patrick spread his hands out. “Spare me no details. I like knowing things.”

Yuri smiled affectionately and Victor’s eyes caught on it. Sure, Yuri laughed often enough at Phichit’s jokes or smiled at things that Theia had to say about her day, but the array of emotions that Yuri showed when he was with Patrick were different. Softer, somehow. They betrayed a fondness, a tenderness that could only be present between two people who loved each other very much, and had for a very long time. No one had ever looked at Victor like that. A part of him wondered what it would be like. Again, this was something he dismissed. His thoughts had a tendency of running away from him sometimes. He could never tell if it was because he was a poet, or a skater. Maybe it was a mix of the two. 

“I went to school in St. Petersburg,” Victor said. “Night classes, mostly. I fit them in-between practice times. Practice always came first. And I studied poetry.”

Patrick’s eyes flashed with surprise. Yuri had settled besides his boyfriend and opened up a textbook, completely uninterested in anything that Victor had to say. 

“Neat,” Patrick replied. He hesitated, and Victor knew he was grasping at some way to continue the conversation. 

Patrick was friendly, as Victor had learned, but by Theia’s description a “ socially awkward penguin.” He didn’t know what to do with people. He was deeply introverted outside of their small circle of friends. It sounded like he and Yuri had met and started dating purely by accident. And Yuri had been the first point of contact for all their other friends since. So, partly out of pity, partly out of his own desire to get to know Patrick—and hopefully Yuri—Victor came to Patrick’s rescue.

“What are you studying again?” He asked. “I don’t think you ever mentioned it.”

Patrick gave Victor a relieved, dopey smile. 

“Music education and kinesiology,” he chirped. 

“Those are…very different,” Victor replied. 

Patrick shrugged. “Just two things I like. To be honest, I never really gave any thought to what I would want to study in college so when I got here I was just like…whelp, this works, you know? And now here I am. I don’t care how different they are, just so long as I graduate with a degree I can use somewhere once I’m done running; that’s all that really matters.”

Patrick, Victor was also learning, talked very quickly, words stumbling over each other. He had the faintest accent too, at least compared to Theia. It took Victor a minute to process what he said. 

“And do you know what you want to do?” Victor asked after a moment. “Once you’re done running, that is.”

Patrick shrugged again. He was still smiling, and his eyes twinkled with laughter. “No idea. But I guess that’s an adventure for another day.”

Victor nodded appreciatively. He had never considered what he would do after he was done skating either. Coach, maybe. He would definitely still be writing poetry. Maybe he could make a living off of that. He looked over at Yuri and plastered a polite smile on his face. 

“And what are you studying, Yuri?” He asked. 

Yuri kept reading. Patrick nudged him gently with a whispered “babe.” At that, at least, Yuri looked up. 

“Yes?” he asked, looking between the two of them. 

“What are you studying?” Victor asked again. 

“Oh,” Yuri said. He fidgeted with his glasses a little. Distantly, Victor noted how adorable the action was. “I’m studying physics and astronomy.” 

His voice was quiet, hesitant, like if he was afraid of how Victor would react to the information. 

“He’s going to work for NASA one day,” Patrick said proudly. 

“Or JAXA,” Yuri added quietly. 

“NASA does all the cool shit though,” Patrick argued. 

Yuri smiled a little. “True,” he admitted. 

“Why physics and astrology?” Victor asked. “I mean, it makes sense if you want to work for space company, but…why do you want to work for a space company…”

He trailed off. Yuri’s aloofness made him uncomfortable. While Victor did not consider himself to be in any way “a socially awkward penguin”, more the opposite, really, Yuri certainly made him feel like one. 

Yuri hesitated again. He looked unduly terrified to answer such a simple question. 

“I guess I, uh, I guess I just really like stars I guess,” Yuri stuttered. 

Beside him Patrick was smiling fondly. He patted his boyfriend’s knee. 

“God, I can’t wait to be your trophy husband,” he said. 

Yuri chuckled. “Wouldn’t it be the other way around?” Yuri asked, “Since you’ll still be running?”

Victor left the two of them to bicker in their familiar, teasing way and turned back to the poem he’d been reading. It was a favorite of his, about a person who was mistaken for a prostitute, but went along with the mistake instead of rejecting it. 

“Do you ever read American poets?” Patrick burst out. 

Victor looked up at him. Yuri had turned back to his book—it looked like something about physics. Victor tried not to be disappointed, although he wasn’t sure why he would be. What did it matter to him if someone didn’t warm up to him, anyways? 

“What?” Victor asked. 

“You know,” Patrick said. “American poets. Like… Shel Silverstein. Or… Robert Frost. Or Emily Dickinson.”

“I took a class that focused on T. S. Eliot once,” Victor said. “I suppose I liked his poems. Why?”

Patrick shrugged. “Just curious. I don’t think I’ve ever really heard of any Russian poets. So I guess I just wondered what poems you read.” 

“Fair enough,” Victor replied. He went back to reading the poem. 

“So—”

“Patrick,” Yuri chastised quietly. “Let him read. You’re bothering him.”

Patrick blushed a little. “Sorry,” he mumbled. 

Victor smiled gratuitously. “It’s alright. I’m always happy to talk.”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Patrick said smoothly. “I know I have a tendency to…ramble.”

He pulled a binder out of his backpack and curled into Yuri’s side to read it. The way they sat together, fit perfectly together…it made Victor’s heart ache. He turned back to his poetry quickly, but even so, his thoughts were distracted with the two men. 

If he was being perfectly honest, for as tooth-achingly sweet and Yuri and Patrick often were together, there were times when Victor didn’t completely understand how they were together. They were both introverted, sure, but Patrick at least  _ tried _ to connect with other people. Yuri made no effort whatsoever. Patrick was incredibly emotive. Yuri, around Victor at least, seemed more restrained. They were a study in contrasts. Again, the start of a poem slipped into his mind. 

_ Two sets of brown eyes _ __   
_ see different worlds _ __   
_ live in different worlds _ __   
_ somehow manage to  _ __   
_ love each other deeply, completely _ __   
_ love each other  _ _   
_ __ in the same world

He scratched it into the margin near the top of the page and a title—Brown Eyes—with a question mark after it. He could meddle with the wording later when he transferred it to his notebook. Maybe he’d even add onto it. He was fairly certain he could go on considering the miracle of Yuri and Patrick’s relationship for a couple more stanzas. 

He wondered distantly if he was fixating unreasonably on the relationship, and if it was strange that he did. Perhaps it was. In fact, it was more than likely that his internal fascination at the lives of his two new friends was more than a little odd, but it wasn’t like if he was trying to invite himself into the bedroom. Besides, there wasn’t much else to do in this dead-end of a suburb, and Yuri was proving to be quite the intriguing mystery wrapped in an enigma. If Yuri wouldn’t talk to him, Victor would have to ruminate on the other man, and other than the far too obvious skating, he ruminated best through line breaks and stanzas and poems.  

Eventually, Victor’s phone buzzed with a message from Yurio, letting him know that the younger boy would be coming over soon, and Victor made his excuses to leave. Patrick smiled when he said goodbye, and invited Victor over for movie night that Friday, and indeed started to ramble about how they’d been woefully neglecting to invite him and “little Yurio” to come from weeks now. Yuri only raised one hand above his textbook in a silent salute. Victor accepted it and waved back, even if Yuri wasn’t looking up. At least the action showed that Yuri wasn’t ignoring him entirely. 

“So…Friday,” Patrick said. “Theia’s. Let us know if you want me to send you the address too.”

“Right,” Victor said, nodding. 

He had missed everything that Patrick had said to him in the last minute or so. He hoped to god it wasn’t important and took his leave with a smile. 

He thought he heard Patrick and Yuri start up a conversation about him in mumbling voices as soon as they thought he was out of earshot, but Victor didn’t stick around to hear for certain. As he set off for the apartment on his bicycle, he tried to remind himself that things really could be worse. Perhaps he would think of this place as home someday, and perhaps the strangeness that passed through his mind whenever he thought of Theia and Patrick and the rest as his “friends” would go away someday. But for now…it was just another day in the long line of them, and Victor was really starting to wish he had stayed in Petersburg, Yakov’s orders or not. 

OOO

“I think you’re hurting Victor’s feelings,” Patrick said once the Russian in question had slipped off. 

Yuri flipped back to study the diagram on the previous page before he went back to reading the paragraph he’d been stuck on since he’d sat down. A month. Almost a month since Victor had come to Detroit and Yuri’s pulse still spiked whenever he saw the other man. 

Victor Nikiforov. Here. Skating on the same ice as him every day. Casually reading Russian poetry in one of the armchairs in Frye. Coming to Colonel’s for the weekly group dinners. It felt too good to be true. He kept waiting to wake up, or for someone to jump out from behind a corner and yell “surprise!” like it was all some big joke. 

“Yuri,” Patrick said. 

Yuri looked up at his boyfriend and his heart instantly softened. _ Patrick _ had never made him feel like he was on the verge of an anxiety attack.  

“How could I possibly hurt him?” Yuri asked. “He’s…he’s…”

“Victor Nikiforov?” Patrick supplied. 

“Exactly!” Yuri said. “And I’m, well…”

“You?” 

Yuri nodded vigorously. “Exactly,” he said again. 

Patrick leaned over and kissed the bend of Yuri’s wrist. Yuri’s heart fluttered a little at the contact. 

“Darling, I don’t know how many times I’m going to have to tell you this, but you’re kind of amazing yourself,” Patrick said. “And besides; I don’t think Victor is as keenly aware of the ‘gaping, cavernous difference’ that separates the two of you as you are. I think he just wants you to be his friend.”

“His friend,” Yuri said skeptically. 

“Mmhmm,” Patrick set. He had set aside the notes he’d been looking over and picked up one of Yuri’s feet instead. Yuri shifted so that he was sitting against the arm of the couch they were sharing, his feet in Patrick’s lap, and watched at Patrick slowly untied the shoelace and slid off the busted pair of trainers Yuri had been wearing. 

“Are you serious?” Yuri half-laughed. He cringed at how obviously frantic he sounded. Patrick looked up at him. 

“About what?” Patrick asked. “Rubbing your feet right now because I know they’ve been aching from practice this morning or about Victor wanting to be your friend?”

A blush crept up Yuri’s cheeks. They’d been dating for a little more than two years now and still Patrick’s public displays of affection set Yuri a bit on edge. On a certain level, he craved the attention, loved the way Patrick would focus only on him, and more than that, the feel of Patrick’s skin or lips on his own whenever they held hands, or when Patrick kissed him, or when Patrick pulled stunts like this. But it was also a little odd, especially for Yuri, who had always been such a private person. 

“Both,” Yuri grumbled. 

Patrick’s grin was flat-out mischievous. He set about working his thumbs around Yuri’s heel. 

“Give him a chance,” Patrick said. “Talk to him. Ask questions, even random ones.”

“Easier said than done,” Yuri argued. 

Patrick shrugged. “What’s the worst scenario you can come up with right now?”

“I humiliate myself horribly and he never talks to me again because he thinks I’m weird and not worth talking to and gossips about how weird I am with all of the other skaters he knows so the only person who hangs out with me ever is Phichit and then even he starts to wonder why and pretty soon the entire skating community thinks I’m a joke.”

Patrick paused for a moment then moved on to Yuri’s arch. 

“Alright,” Patrick said. “I can understand that. But Victor seems like a fairly understanding guy. He didn’t really seem bothered when I was asking him about poetry earlier, even if I did keep interrupting him. I’m sure he wouldn’t dismiss you out of hand.”

Yuri shrugged. 

“And Phichit would never second guess your friendship, Yuri,” Patrick continued on. “He loves you, we all do, in, you know, an extremely platonic-familial way.”

Yuri quirked a brow, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “Even you?”

“I admit my intentions may not be entirely platonic,” Patrick admitted. He ran a hand up Yuri’s calf and Yuri’s toes curled in their socks. “But you’re still my best friend and nothing could ever change that.”

He leaned down and kissed Yuri’s ankle. Yuri tried to yank his foot away but Patrick held tight. 

“My feet probably smell,” Yuri complained. 

“I don’t care,” Patrick replied. “I love you no matter what, stinky feet and all. Now what else were you saying? Victor will turn all of the other skaters against you?”

Yuri looked away and shrugged a shoulder. 

“Again,” Patrick continued. “I don’t really see Victor as the devious, Regina George type, but let’s be honest, Yuri. Besides Phichit, do you really hang around with any of the other skaters?”

“No,” Yuri mumbled. 

“Okay, so what does it matter? If they think you’re weird, that’s their problem. They’ll be missing out, of course, but their perception of you doesn’t make you any less awesome. It doesn’t make you any less of the fantastic figure skater that you are.”

Heat crept up Yuri’s cheeks. “But I’ll feel weird if I know they think I’m weird,” he argued. “And…” he trailed off, not really sure what he was going to say next. 

Patrick squeezed his thumbs up and down Yuri’s arch. “Be confident, Yuri,” he said. “Imagine you’re wearing an invisible armor. Or playing a role. They can’t touch you because they don’t know you. Besides,” Patrick said, looking up with a smile. “How could anyone think poorly of you? You’re too lovely.”

He flushed up to his ears at that and looked back down at his textbook, which was still in his lap. “I still can’t believe this is real,” he said quietly. 

“What?” Patrick asked. “This foot rub? I’m glad to hear you think it’s so phenomenal. I mean, I knew my skills were out of the world but—”

He cut off as Yuri reach forward and smacked him lightly, but they were both smiling now. Patrick closed the space between them and pressed a quick kiss to Yuri’s lips. 

“Thank you,” Yuri said when he had pulled away. 

Patrick shrugged, bashful. “I just wish you saw yourself the same way that I do.”

“And how’s that?”

Patrick glanced up at him quickly, then looked back to Yuri’s feet. He blushed a little. “Unbelievably sexy and sweeter than a candy shop. You know,” he said, pressing his fingers into the ball of Yuri’s foot. “Just…deserving of everything and more than I deserve.”

“Patrick,” Yuri said. His boyfriend looked up at him, hesitant, curious. “If I’m all of that, then you are too.”

Patrick smiled his usual dopey smile and Yuri returned it. 

“God, I love you,” Patrick said. 

Yuri went back to his reading with his smile. “I love you too,” he replied. “Now get more along the bottom of my heel. That’s been bothering me today.”

With a chuckle, Patrick shifted his hands. Yuri tried to go on reading, but thoughts were circling around his brain that demanded to be considered. Friends. With Victor Nikiforov. It made his heart flutter with fear just considering it. Dangerous ground, to be certain, but maybe Patrick was right. Maybe it was time to put all of that aside and give it a shot. He hadn’t come close to voicing nearly all of his fears about the subject to Patrick, but he broke them down and pointed out how weak they all were to himself. He loved Patrick, and so long as they stuck together, everything would be fine. He had nothing to fear from Victor, and perhaps, and Yuri considered this with no small amount of uncertainty, perhaps everything to gain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back (back again)
> 
> Hey! So...  
> Writing this has been...a wild ride, especially in the final stages. Delays lately are mainly are due to Muse being in Ecuador (being kick-ass on a medical mission trip) and the fact that my best friend accidentally fried my computer. But we're here now and it's finished and Muse and I are cracking down on editing! Yay! 
> 
> Updates will be every other day, time TBD (it will be more regular once I have a computer again and I'm back to school). Chapters, also, are WAAAAAAY longer than they've been before. So get excited about that! 
> 
> Also, I'll be posting deleted scenes and extras on my writing blog (batmads-ao3.tumblr.com) with the tag #extrastars


	3. Chapter 3

Something had changed in Yuri. Victor wasn’t quite sure what or when but…something had changed. He didn’t look terrified every time Victor talked to him. He didn’t skate to the complete opposite side of the rink every time Victor came within ten feet of him. He wondered, distantly, if Patrick had said something to him the other day when they had all been in the student center. That was one thing Victor was sure of when it came to Yuri: he always listened to what Patrick had to say and did what Patrick suggested he do. Patrick was the same way with Yuri. The habit demonstrated a level of trust and faith that Victor felt they didn’t have with their other friends.

He pushed those thoughts away though. He hated how he looked at Yuri and Patrick and couldn’t help but think that it was everything _he_ had ever wanted in a relationship. He hated how instead of gushing, as he probably normally would have, over how perfect they were for each other, their relationship had started to fill him with an underlying feeling of resentment. How Yuri and Patrick weren’t soulmates was beyond him. He pitied the men who were _supposed_ to be Yuri and Patrick’s soulmates, though. If they ever did get a chance to be with their destined match, the bar had to have been set pretty high.

“Have you checked your assignments yet, Victor?”

Victor looked up. It was Phichit, leaning against his locker as Yuri finished packing up all his equipment. It was Friday. Practice was over for the day. They were going to head over to Theia’s for movie night next.

“I’m sorry?” Victor asked.

“Your assignments,” Phichit said again with an easy smile. “For the grand prix series.”

“Oh,” Victor said.

Yuri was dropping all his used clothes from the week into his bag. He dropped his keys with a loud clatter and swore softly in Japanese.

“I’m going to Skate America and Rostelecom! What about you?” Victor said with a smile.

Assignments. The skating season had already started, sure, but now he had a clear goal in mind. Now it felt real. Talking about it made his heart pitter patter with excitement.

Besides him, he could tell Yuri was trying to decide whether or not to bring his skates with him or just leave them in his locker. One of his hands was hovering over the laces uncertainly. Phichit, it seemed, had also noticed.

“Leave them,” the younger boy said.

Yuri nodded sharply and shut his locker door. He gave the padlock quick twirl and together, the three of them walked out of the locker room and into the hallway. Yurio peeled himself from the wall he had been leaning on to wait to join them.

“I have Cup of China and NHK,” Phichit chirped.

Victor slid his gaze to Yuri, who scratched nervously behind his neck and said “Skate America and Trophée Éric Bompard.”

Victor clapped excitedly. “We’ll get to hang out together!” he cheered.

Yuri looked less than thrilled by this prospect, and Victor’s heart sank. Even if Yuri wasn’t actively avoiding him anymore, he still hadn’t seemed to warm to Victor’s presence. If anything, he just acted like if Victor had stolen his puppy, or was going to. It was very disheartening. Still, Victor was determined not to let it bother him.

Maybe one of these days he would ask Yuri what he had done to cause offence. Victor knew he was forgetful. It wouldn’t surprise him if he had done something at some point, even if it was unintentional.

They stepped onto the sunlit street and Victor paused for a moment before he found his sunglasses and snapped them on. He always felt cool pulling his sunglasses on and off. Something about the movement always made him feel famous and untouchable. Yurio, perhaps guessing at his thoughts, snorted.

“So how far away is Theia’s, exactly?” Victor asked.

“Far,” Yuri said.

“Ehhh, far-ish.” Phichit amended. He looked over at Victor. “She lives closer to the university,” he explained.

Victor nodded with understanding. The skate club was located in a strip mall about two miles south of the university. Yuri and Phichit, Patrick, and Victor all lived in the neighborhood between the university and the skate club. Victor lived closest to the club, Yuri and Phichit were about halfway between the club and university and a little west of where Victor lived, and Patrick lived at the far north end of the neighborhood, close to the university. Theia lived even farther north of the university, near a park. Victor had gone biking on the trails near her apartment a few times since he’d moved here.

“Why are we going _there?_ ” Yurio snarled. “It’s out of everybody’s way.”

“We rotate,” Phichit said. “it just happened to be Theia’s turn this time. Next it will be Patrick’s. Then us,” he nudged Yuri with his shoulder with that last declaration.

“What movie are we watching tonight?” Victor asked.

Yuri shrugged. “If we actually watch a movie—and that’s a big if—it’ll be whatever…Patrick? Has picked,” he said. “We rotate who picks movies too. So It’s Theia, Patrick, me then Phichit.”

“Why don’t you just have the person hosting pick?” Yurio grumbled. “Makes more sense.”

“Because I didn’t have an apartment until last year,” Phichit said, “but they still wanted to give me a say in what movie we watched. And besides, Yuri and I always pick different kinds of movies.”

“What kinds of movies _do_ you like, Yuri?” Victor asked.

Yuri shrugged again. He was looking increasingly anxious. “I don’t know. Just…movies.”

Phichit laughed. “Yuri picks Studio Ghibli movies mostly,” he said. “There have been a few exceptions, but that’s what we’ll be seeing next week. I always pick a musical. I love _The King and the Skater_!”

Yuri smiled a little. “You pick it almost every time,” he said.

“Do not,” Phichit said. “I pick plenty of other movies too!”

“Like _The King and the Skater 2_?” Yuri asked.

“It was a fantastic sequel,” Phichit mused.

“What does everyone else pick?” Victor asked.

“Well, Patrick always picks something silly,” Phichit said. “Like one of the Starkid musicals or a Disney movie or a parody sort of thing. Sometimes superheroes.”

“And Theia?” Victor asked.

“Has never met a movie she didn’t like,” Yuri replied. “It can literally be anything with her—foreign films, a rom com, a ‘classic,’ or some action flick. It just depends on her mood.”

“But tonight we’re in for something silly,’ Victor said.

Yuri smiled wryly. “Tonight we’re in for something silly,” he confirmed.

OOO

They took one of the university buses to Theia’s. Yuri paid for all of them and they hopped and wobbled along until they reached their stop. Yuri and Phichit were talking to each other in low voices about something trivial and Victor stretched the fingers of his mind for a poem he could play with. He came up empty handed, which was fine, he supposed. He couldn’t have a poem ready to be considered at every moment of every day. He focused instead on Yuri, on the way he talked, the way he walked and moved.

Yuri tilted towards Phichit as they chatted, and Phichit towards Yuri. It was subtle, but the movement was there. He tilted his head sharply too so that it was bent down, but also so that it completed the curve. It was a quietly considerate gesture, and one Victor thought demonstrated how Phichit had Yuri’s full attention as they talked. Hands in his pockets, strolling casually along. Yuri looked comfortable, relaxed. There was an ease—a confidence—in his shoulders that was never there when he talked to Victor.

Before Victor’s heart could ache at this realization—and the evidence that he still hadn’t fully settled in here, if Yuri hadn’t accepted him—a poem started unfurling in his mind. He pulled out his phone and typed it into the notes as he walked. When he was finished, he read it over again, changed a line break here and there and then slid it back into his pocket, but the words were still twisting their way through his mind.

_Two strangers met_   
_at a bus stop one night_   
_and talked for hours and then walked together_   
_down slumbering boulevards_   
_when the busses never came_   
_they didn’t say, didn’t give away_   
_their names, their homes, their numbers_   
_but they talked and talked like strangers never did_   
_through the empty morning hours_   
_when at last time came_   
_for the parting of ways_   
_farewells were brief, but fond and tearful_   
_and though they never did meet again_   
_they always counted as their dearest friend_ _  
the stranger they met in those dark hours._

It probably still needed work if it was going to become a truly good poem, but Victor was fond of it. He was trying to come up with a title when Yuri stopped and rang the buzzer next to the door of an apartment building. Evidentially, they had reached Theia’s while Victor had been caught up in line breaks and meter.

The door clicked open and Yuri and Phichit wandered inside, Victor and Yurio behind them. They were still stuck on whatever subject they had been discussing before. He thought it might have been about Phichit’s pets. They kept saying “Arthur,” “King,” and “Pashima,” anyways.

Phichit opened up Theia’s door without knocking once they reached it and he and Yuri flooded inside. Phichit made an immediate right into the small kitchen to say hello to Theia; Yuri beelined for Patrick, who was already lying on the couch.

“Yuri baby!” Patrick cheered.

Victor peeled his eyes away from the two of them before he could start resenting what he was sure was about to a very public display of Yuri and Patrick’s affection.

“Hello, Theia,” he said once she and Phichit had pulled apart. To his surprise, Theia grabbed him in a tight hug.

“Hey Victor,” she mumbled into her shoulder.

She gave Yurio a quick wave once she released Victor. She was still holding a wooden spoon in her hand.

“Hey Yurio,” she said.

Yurio scowled at her then went to sulk in the living room. Theia sighed.

“Still hasn’t warmed up to the place yet?” she asked.

Victor shrugged. “He already had to move from Moscow to St. Petersburg barely two years ago. I think he’s unhappy that things changed again so quickly, and there’s not a lot of other students in his age group at the club.”

“Hopefully, it will all work out soon,” Theia said, though her voice was sad. She had a maternal instinct that Victor suspected kept all of their other friends in line when they started to be a little unruly. Kind too, and she gave good advice whenever he asked for it. She was one of the first non-skating friends he’d had in years, and he was grateful for it. He didn’t know how he would have handled the transition—and Yurio’s foul temper—without her.

“Hopefully,” Victor agreed.

They glanced over the counter at their friends assembled in Theia’s living room before her small TV. Yuri and Patrick were curled up on the couch together, Phichit was sitting on the floor below them, but had turned his head back to chat with Patrick. Yuri was listening to whatever they were saying, and nodded every now and then, but had taken his usual backseat role. Yurio was sitting alone in the overstuffed floral-patterned armchair in the corner, scowling at nothing and everything. Victor’s heart tugged unexpectedly. His new friends. His new family, even. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Here,” Theia said, handing him a stack of bowls and a handful of forks. “I just made a quick pasta and crab salad thing, and there’s popcorn already in there, if anyone wants to eat it. Could you hand these out to everybody?”

He nodded and slipped around the counter through the doorway that led to the living room. The windows overlooking the small balcony were open, letting in a slight breeze. He passed out the mismatched bowls and forks to everyone, then tried to figure out where he was going to sit.

There was room on the couch next to Yuri and Patrick, but somehow the idea of sitting next to them felt like intruding on a private moment, which left Victor feeling uneasy. Yurio had taken the only armchair, which left Victor of grabbing one of the ancient chairs that were pushed into the octagonal dining table or joining Phichit on the floor. He picked the floor just as Theia came in, carrying a giant white bowl in one hand and a serving spoon in the other. She dished out a little bit of the salad into everyone’s bowls, then left what was leftover and some salad dressing on the table.

“If you want more, it’s right there,” she said without ceremony, and then she plopped down on the couch next to Yuri and Patrick, apparently unperturbed by their closeness. In fact, if anything, she laughed.

“Move your legs, dorks,” she said. “You’re taking up most of the couch.”

“There are two of us,” Patrick argued back. “Of course we take up most of the couch.”

Theia looked down at where Patrick and Yuri’s feet had creeped into her lap and sighed again, heavily. “You two are just…you’re all legs, you know.”

“Legs for days,” Patrick agreed, kicking one of his legs up in the air. He narrowly avoided hitting Yuri in the head and Yuri shouted in alarm.

“Sorry babe,” Patrick said, quickly patting Yuri’s arm.

Theia was shaking her head, chuckling to herself a little. “It’s really unreasonable,” she said.

“You’re unreasonable,” Patrick fired back.

“What kind of comeback is _that_?”

“The best kind.”

“Patrick,” Yuri said calmly, “scoot over. We really should give Theia some room. Phichit, will you put the movie in?”

Phichit scrambled across the floor while Patrick, Yuri and Theia rearranged themselves on the couch. The three of them were still laughing a little, and grumbling here and there, but when Phichit came back, they had all settled down, more or less. The opening previews started to play and then the title menu popped up.

“What the fuck is this?” Theia asked after a moment.

“I will have you know,” Patrick shot back, “that this is a quality movie straight from my childhood that I deeply enjoy for its utter perfection.”

“ _Quest for Camelot_?” Theia demanded.

“Hey, I was very tempted by _The Last Unicorn_ , but I decided against it last minute. Don’t judge me.”

“We could have just watched the Hannah Montana movie again,” Yuri muttered. “Or Camp Rock or any of the High School Musicals. You like those too.”

“I wanted to do something new,” Patrick said tightly.

The opening credits started playing.

“Alright who wants to be the girl?” Patrick asked.

“I’ll take her,” Theia replied, “provided that she is awesome.”

“She wants to be a knight, so…yes,” Patrick replied.

“Who do you want?” Yuri asked.

“I’ll take the dad for now.”

“We always add on more anyways,” Yuri said. “I’ll be the mom.”

Victor furrowed his brow, trying to figure out what they were up to. Theia tapped on his shoulder and he looked up, expectant.

“We like to divvy up the characters,” she said. “It makes commentary more fun.”

“Commentary?” Victor asked.

“Yeah like MST3K.” Patrick said.

“I don’t think Victor’s ever seen that, P,” Theia said. She sighed and glanced back down at Victor. “We talk, while the movie’s playing. About what’s going on and we make jokes and stuff.”

“Oh, cool,” Victor said, nodding. “That sounds like lots of fun!”

“Who do you want to be, Victor?” Yuri asked.

Victor looked up at him, surprised that the other man had addressed him directly. “I…I don’t know,” he stuttered. He glanced over at Patrick. “You’ve seen the movie. Who do you think I should be?”

Patrick considered for a moment and then gestured at the screen. “For now, be the rooster. I have a guy for you later on.”

“Okay,” Victor said. He turned back to the movie. Knights were meeting around a round table with their king.

“Yurio can be the griffin, whenever he shows up,” Patrick said. “And…that guy.”

Out of the corner of Victor’s eye, he could see Patrick pointing at a seemingly random knight.

“Why am I that guy?” Yurio demanded from the corner.

“Shush up and you’ll see,” Patrick said.

The movie went on without them saying anything for a few minutes, and then Yurio’s knight staged a giant attack and commentary began again in earnest. The movie went on. Patrick’s first character died, but he and Yuri became a two-headed dragon that made an appearance later in the film. Victor’s rooster ended up getting turned into a talking axe, and Patrick gave him a blind hermit as another character. They talked. They laughed. They made jokes about what the characters were doing and some of the more obvious plot points. They sang along with every song, complete with dramatic hand gestures. It was fun, more fun than Victor had had in a while, even with his friends from the rink back home in Petersburg. He was sad when the evening ended.

When the conversation and comfortable teasing that had followed the movie eventually dwindled down, they left Theia alone in her apartment. Darkness had fallen, and the warm summer night pressed down around them like a blanket.

“If you guys want a ride, I think we might all be able to squeeze into Trevor,” Patrick said.

“Trevor?” Victor asked.

“My truck,” Patrick replied. There was no small amount of pride in his voice.

Victor glanced down at Yurio, who was sleepily rubbing at his eyes, and nodded. It was a Friday night, but he wasn’t sure if the busses were still running, not to mention, Yuri would probably have gone back with Patrick anyways. It was a long walk, and he had a feeling that Yurio would have fallen asleep half way through.

They trailed after Patrick to where he had parked around the corner and Victor looked the car over with an appraising eye and Patrick and Yuri clambered inside, Phichit behind them.

It was an old truck, crème colored and a little rusted. It probably needed a new paint job, at very least, or to be sold to the junkyard at very best. Yurio scoffed next to Victor.

“What a piece of junk,” he muttered.

Victor shushed him and pulled the younger boy up into the cab beside him. Patrick and Yuri and Phichit were squeezed tightly together across the bench seat, Yuri so close to Patrick that they were practically sharing the driver’s seat.

“You’ll have to put Yurio in your lap,” Phichit said. “But we should all fit.”

Victor nodded and did as he directed. His eyes caught on the trinkets hanging from the rearview mirror as Patrick pulled out of the space and started heading towards the neighborhood west of the campus. There was a running shoe, which Victor supposed was obvious, given Patrick’s profession, but also a small white square-shaped packet. Something in Japanese had been embroidered on it on gold thread, and Victor realized that it must have been something that Yuri had given him once. He wondered what it meant, if anything. He wondered when Yuri had gotten it.

Again, Victor cursed the way his thoughts tumbled towards Yuri whenever he was with the other man, or presented with small artifacts of his relationship with Patrick. Yuri was such a mystery though that it was hard _not_ to think about him. They’d known each other for several weeks, almost a month now, and Victor still barely knew any more about Yuri than he had when they first met. It was infuriating that he, Victor Nikiforov, who could charm anybody, who was friends with everybody, could not seem to gain the friendship of his new rink mate.

“What’s your address, Victor?” Patrick asked, and Victor was pulled out of his ruminations.

Victor rattled it off and it a minute Patrick had pulled up to Victor’s building. He let out a low whistle.

“You’ve got the nice digs,” he said.

Victor shrugged and opened up the cab door with one hand. Yurio had fallen asleep on his shoulder on during the short ride and Victor did his best not to wake him.

“See you all tomorrow? Or sometime soon?” Victor asked as he jumped out and eased Yurio gently over his shoulder.

Phichit nodded. “Practice tomorrow for Yuri and I. Sometime soon for everyone else for sure though.”

Patrick flashed a thumbs up. Yuri, surprisingly, waved a small goodbye, and then Phichit was pulling the door shut and Patrick was driving off again. On some instinct, Victor glanced up, hoping to see the faint twinkle of stars that was visible even here in the middle off all this light pollution, but it was a cloudy night and he couldn’t see anything, not even the moon. With a soft sigh, he turned and walked back to his building and up to his apartment. He left Yurio sleeping on the couch and found a blanket for the him before Victor headed up to bed himself. Sleep overtook him quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so Muse is busy AF and she feels bad about not being able to keep up with editing and being her usual awesome self, so I'm going to hold off on posting at least until we're both at school next week ~~which is good because my computer is still fried, so I have to come to the library every time I post~~. 
> 
> So, I'm sorry again for the delay, but again, Muse and I don't want y'all getting something that's, well, less than subpar when we're around in an official capacity.


	4. Chapter 4

 

“I’m so excited I could die _ , _ ” Theia said, collapsing into the chair next to Victor. 

They were all at Colonel’s, and it was mid-October now. Leaves on the trees were changing. There was a sharp bite to the air. Skate America was a week away. Victor had been working on perfecting his programs for his season debut for the last few days, with help from Celestino. He was a different kind of coach from Yakov, Victor had discovered, but not in a way that was necessarily…bad. When he critiqued Victor’s performances he was sure to highlight what Victor had done well before going on to break down what he thought needed improvement. He ended all such comments with “Overall I think,” like if he was making a suggestion more than telling Victor to do something. It was nice. It was friendly. It had thrown Victor off balance until he had gotten used to it.

“What happened?” Victor asked, straightening up. He had been watching some of the videos from last season of the skaters he was going up against at Skate America. 

Theia squealed. “Maria’s coming!” 

“Who?” Victor asked, just as Yuri at Patrick returned from where they’d been loitering by the counter, chatting with Donald. 

“Theia’s girlfriend,” Yuri said. 

“And soulmate,” Patrick supplied. 

Yuri snagged a mac-bite from the basket on the table and waved it dismissively before taking a bite. 

“Girlfriend is the more pertinent—and important—title.”

“When’s she coming, Theia?” Patrick asked. He leaned forward and snagged a handful of bites from the basket. 

“In a week or so. She’ll be here for StS2.”

Patrick chuckled. “Nice,” he said. 

“What’s StS2?” Victor asked. 

“Strip to Stop Suicide,” Theia said. “It’s a fundraiser the campus GSA does every year for the Trevor Project.”

“That’s neat!” Victor said. “What do you guys do for it?”

“Strip,” Patrick said around a full mouth.

“We sort of run a strip club, one night only, out of the gay bar down the street,” Theia explained. “Yuri and Patrick bring in a lot of money every year.”

“Cause we’re hot!” Patrick said once he had swallowed. Yuri’s face flushed, but he chuckled. 

“It’s a lot of fun though,” Patrick said, looking at Victor. “You should come. Not to mention, it’s for a good cause.”

“I’ll think about it,” Victor said, and as he did, the thought of what Yuri would look like shirtless flew into his mind. He pushed it down quickly. He really needed to get over this slight obsession with the other skater if they were going to be friends. 

Patrick smiled his usual dopey smile. “Great,” he said. 

The door swung open and Phichit walked in, Yurio on his tail, school and practice for the day finished. 

“Maria’s coming!” Theia squealed again as soon as she saw them. 

“What?” Phichit asked. “When?” 

They launched into conversation—apparently Maria and Phichit adored each other—and Victor turned to Yurio.

“How was school today?” he asked. 

Yurio shrugged. “Dumb,” he said. “Boring.”

“And practice?” 

“The same.”

Victor sighed. “Yuri—”

“I know. You want me to try. I get it.”

“It doesn’t hurt to make an effort,” Victor said gently. 

Yurio glared up at him. 

“I didn’t like moving here at first either,” Yuri said gently, and Victor looked up, surprised to find Yuri looking at Yurio with soft brown eyes.

Surprised that Yuri had been paying attention to them.

“There were too many people,” Yuri continued. “And everyone was always clambering all over me—not literally, of course, but it felt like it. They were always trying to worm their way into my life. It made me nervous. And the more nervous I got, the more I fumbled my words, and that just continued the problem.”

Patrick was still turned towards Theia and Phichit, seemingly engrossed in whatever they were talking about now, but Victor couldn’t help but notice how his hand tightened around Yuri’s where they were resting on the table. Patrick cared about Yuri. He loved Yuri. Even when his attention seemed to be turned elsewhere, he was attuned to Yuri’s needs and moods. The thought slipped into Victor’s brain before he could stop it.

He wanted to be the one who squeezed Yuri’s hand when he got nervous. He wanted to be the one who Yuri turned to, who noticed all of Yuri’s little tells and was allowed to do something about them.

He pushed down the thought quickly. Yuri and Patrick were together and happy and in love. Victor couldn’t keep being petty like this just because he had never had as meaningful of a relationship as they did.

Yurio, beside Victor, was clearly shocked at Yuri’s confession.

“What did you do?” Yurio whispered.

Yuri smiled wryly. “I got very lucky,” he said, “and I met Patrick.”

“Oh,” Yurio mumbled. He slumped in his seat, quietly disappointed that Yuri hadn’t been able to give any real advice.

“Yuri,” Yuri said.

Yurio looked up again.

“if it ever gets to feeling like it’s too much, go into the bathroom or find somewhere quiet. Take a deep breath and count to ten. Keep doing that until you feel better. That’s what I always do.”

Yurio nodded, taking in the advice.

“And I know it’s hard to ask for help,” Yuri added, “but don’t be afraid to tell your teachers if you’re struggling. They can be a big help.”

Yurio hesitated. “What do you know about it?” he asked.

Again, that wry smile.

“I had a calculus professor my freshman year,” he said. “I’ve always been good at math and I thought my English was pretty decent, but…I could barely understand what he was saying and I couldn’t keep up with the lessons. Nothing made sense. For the first time in my life, I was failing a class.”

“So you went in and talked to him?” Victor asked.

Yuri nodded.

“And he helped?” Yurio asked.

Yuri nodded again. “He gave me the notes ahead of schedule, so if I was still confused, I could come back to him and get help sooner. And he let me make up some past assignments, which was really nice, especially considering how rare that can be at universities. I went from barely passing to class to having a low A.”

Victor whistled. “That’s impressive.”

Yuri, suddenly bashful, shrugged. “All I’m saying is, don’t let your situation overwhelm you. You’re really tough, Yuri. You can do anything.”

And then, to Victor’s surprise, and perhaps to Yurio’s as well, Yurio’s lips twitched up in the smallest of smiles.

“You bet I can,” he said.

Yuri grinned and it was bright and beautiful and Victor would be lying if he said his heart didn’t flutter a little at the sight. Really, it was unfair how attractive Yuri was. Patrick leaned over to fist-bump Yurio and Victor amended his statement.

It was really unfair how attractive both Yuri and Patrick were, because they did make for a handsome couple. A handsome couple made all the more so by their clear devotion to each other.

“That’s the spirit,” Patrick said. “Now tomorrow, get in there and show the world what you’re made of, Tiger.”

Yurio nodded sharply. Filled with his new goal, his this shoulder set with a fierce determination. Victor tried to catch Yuri’s eye, to give the other man an appreciative smile, but Patrick was whispering something in Yuri’s ear, and Yuri was turned away, smiling to himself. Victor’s heart ached, and he told himself that it was because Yuri and Patrick were so adorable, and because he was sad that he couldn’t say thank you to Yuri directly.

It felt like a lie, though, even if Victor couldn’t quite say why.

OOO

A few days later, Yuri and Victor left with Celestino, or Ciao Ciao, and Yuri and his friends liked to call him. Victor caught himself using the nickname every now and then too lately, although he tried not to. After years of training under Yakov, it felt strange and wrong somehow. Disrespectful, Victor supposed, although Celestino would have taken the teasing nickname far better than Yakov.

This was going to be his first competition in years without the gnarled old man at his side. Victor tried hard to not think too much of it, as difficult as it was. He wouldn’t even get to see Yakov at the competition with any of the skaters from his former club. He would likely never see his old coach at any competitions ever again. The thought made Victor’s heart flutter a little bit with nervousness. What kind of coach would Celestino be at competitions? Would he be the kind of person that Victor would need him to be, or would he be so radically different than Yakov…

He didn’t dare to finish the thought. This would work out. It had to. Yakov had faith in Celestino, so Victor would to. And besides, what did it matter if Celestino was a sub-par coach? He was Victor Nikiforov. He was untouchable. He was going to be a legend in the world of figure skating one day. He had the talent and training to win gold here easily, and he would.

He glanced over at where Yuri was sitting in the lobby armchair next to him, both of them waiting for Celestino to come back with their room keys. Yuri looked far less confident than Victor felt. In fact, his friend looked like he was about to be ill. Extensively. All over the nice hotel carpet.

“Are you alright?” Victor asked, leaning closer.

Yuri glanced at him with wide, terrified eyes.

“Fine,” he squeaked.

“You don’t  _ look  _ fine,” Victor shot back. “Do you want me to—”

He was cut off with the arrival of Celestino, who looked incredibly flustered. Victor was instantly on guard.

“There was a mix up in reservations,” Celestino said.

Victor narrowed his eyes. “Do we still have our rooms?” he asked.

Celestino hesitated for a moment and then made a motion with his hands, as if he was comparing the weight of two oranges. It was a gesture Victor had become familiar enough with over the last few months. Celestino usually made it when he and Victor were talking about skating, and how Victor could improve or what he was doing wrong. Roughly, Victor thought it meant “sort of.”

“We only have two rooms,” Celestino said.

Besides Victor, Yuri whimpered.

“They both have two beds,” Celestino added quickly, “and they’re right next to each other, so really it’s just a matter of who sleeps where. I can share with one of you, or you two can share…”

He trailed off and Victor glanced over at Yuri to see if the other man had any clear preference. Yuri, however, had covered his face with his hands. He was trembling a little and muttering to himself in Japanese. Victor made a split second decision.

“Yuri and I can share!” he said, turning back to Celestino with a grin.

Celestino nodded and his shoulders relaxed, clearly relieved that the situation had worked out so well.

“Yuri,” Celestino asked, “are you alright? Do you want me to get you anything?”

Yuri shook his head slowly back and forth. “I’m fine,” he croaked from behind his hands.

Celestino frowned, but Victor did his best to give his coach what he thought was a reassuring smile.

“I’ll take him up to our room and make sure he lies down,” Victor said.

“Are you sure you don’t need…?” Celestino asked, hesitating.

But Victor nodded firmly. “I’m sure. If there’s anything else you have to do, you can go worry about that; I’ll take care of Yuri.”

Celestino smiled warmly at him and nodded. He handed Victor a paper packet with two room keys tucked inside. The number 324 was written in the corner in pen.

“Thank you, Victor,” he said.

Victor gave him a curt nod in acknowledgement and Celestino wandered off. Victor turned to Yuri, who had curled over his knees.

“Do you need help?” he asked. “Or can you walk on your own?”

Yuri pulled himself up and looked at Victor. He still looked a little green, and his glasses were a bit akimbo. It would have been horribly adorable if Victor wasn’t so worried about him.

“I can walk,” Yuri croaked.

Victor eyed him skeptically, but stood and waited while Yuri pulled himself out of his chain. His legs wobbled like a newborn colt’s and Victor reach out a hand on instinct to stabilize him.

Yuri flinched. He actually flinched away from Victor and Victor was left blinking after him like an idiot for a few moments before he stumbled behind. He tried not to take it personally. Clearly, something was wrong here, and proud, private Yuri probably resented Victor for witnessing it, but  _ flinching.  _ Oh, that stung. Even when Victor tried to push it away, it stung.

Yuri wobbled as he walked, but they made it to the elevators just fine, Victor one step behind his friend, half-afraid that Yuri was topple over at any moment. They rode up to their floor in stony silence. Victor resisted the urge to hiss “what’s wrong with you?” at Yuri once more. Yuri leaned against the cool metal wall of the elevator. His brow was slightly furrowed, his hair a mess. Victor studied their reflections in the mirrored door. For some reason, the strangers poem he had written more than a month ago came to his mind. He repeated it to himself until the doors opened with a soft ping.

Victor touched Yuri briefly on the elbow when Yuri didn’t move. This time, he didn’t flinch.

“Yuri,” Victor said gently.

Yuri’s eyes cracked open and he stumbled out of the elevator after Victor. Victor stalked down the hall, counting off room numbers, mentally trying to come up with a list of things that might help Yuri. Maybe a warm shower. A soft bed to lie down on in a dark room. Music? He didn’t know, and he hated not knowing what to do.

He found their room and held the door open while Yuri somehow made it inside. He stood aside as Yuri collapsed onto the first bed he came to. Victor hesitated for a moment, then sat down on the bed next to Yuri. He reached out his hand, half afraid that Yuri would flinch away from his again, but Yuri hadn’t objected in the elevator, so Victor started rubbing slow, smooth circles into Yuri’s back with his palm.

Yuri whimpered and a second later, Victor realized he was crying. Victor was very bad at dealing with crying people. He hoped that Yuri didn’t expect anything from him. Desperately, Victor tried to wrack his brain for something comforting to say, but without any context for what was going on with Yuri in that moment, he came up empty. Why was Yuri crying? Was he hurt? Was he sick? Had Victor done something wrong?

“Yuri?” Victor asked quietly.

Yuri went still beneath him and Victor started to pull his hand away but then Yuri said, very softly, almost so Victor couldn’t hear it “Please don’t stop.”

Victor went back to rubbing circles on Yuri’s back. Yuri, for his part, kept taking deep, ragged breaths. Eventually, he stopped shuddering. Victor took that as his cue to pull away at last and slowly and ever so carefully, Yuri sat up and looked at him.

“Thank you,” Yuri said.

Victor nodded once. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to look at Yuri, so he turned his head away.

“What was that?” Victor rasped. “What—” and now he did bring himself to meet Yuri’s beautiful brown eyes, peering out at him now from behind Yuri’s blue half-frames with uncertainty but resolve.

“What happened to you?” he finished.

“I have bad anxiety,” Yuri whispered. They were both speaking so quietly, but then, Victor supposed, this was the kind of moment that could not be addressed in a casual tone.

“So…did you just have an anxiety attack?” Victor asked.

Yuri nodded.

“Do you have them a lot?”

This time Yuri shook his head. “Mostly, they just come when I’m in high stress situations, or I’m about to be.”

“Oh,” Victor said. “Do you have a lot of problems with competitions, then?”

Yuri hesitated for a moment and Victor could have sworn that surprise lit his eyes.

“Yes,” he said at last.

“Is it always this bad?”

“No.”

Victor nodded and filed all of that information away for later. Who knew when Yuri would have an anxiety attack again. He wanted to be more prepared next time. He wanted to be able to help Yuri better.

“I wish Patrick were here,” Yuri said quietly.

Victor tensed. Was he not enough? Had he not just proven that he could adequately help Yuri through these attacks?

“He’s…he’s really good at helping me through it,” Yuri continued. “He knows how to make it stop quickly.”

“I’m sorry I can’t be him,” Victor said. He almost flinched at how frosty his words were.

“No, no,” Yuri said and he reached out, he actually reached out and laid a hand on Victor’s arm.

With a start, Victor realized that that was the first time that Yuri had ever deliberately touched him. And earlier, in the lobby. That had been the first time that Victor had ever reached out to touch Yuri. Was that why Yuri had flinched away? Because of…well, because of all of this?

“He just…he knows how to get me to talk my way out of it. And he reminds me to breathe. And that it’s all in my head,” Yuri’s brow furrowed in frustration. “I’m not explaining this very well,” he muttered.

“It’s alright, I think I understand,” Victor said, pulling away. His voice was still cool, but on a vague level, he did sort of understand what Yuri was saying.

This attack had been bad, worse than usual, for whatever reason. Victor had done a fair job of helping Yuri through it, but it had only been that—a fair job. Patrick was experienced with helping Yuri. He knew exactly what to do whenever Yuri was struck with these attacks. Having that experience now would be a big comfort—and perhaps because of that an even bigger help—to Yuri.

“You do?” Yuri asked. He was looking at Victor and biting his lip a little. Nerves were etched in every line of his face.

Victor sighed and gave Yuri a soft smile. “I think I do anyways,” he said.

Yuri’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you,” he said again. “What you did…it helped, a lot. It helped ground me.”

At loss for what else to do, Victor stood up and nodded. Yuri glanced up at him only briefly.

“I’m…I’m going to take a shower,” Victor said, jerking his thumb towards the bathroom. “Flying always makes me feel grimy.”

Yuri nodded slightly.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m going to take a nap. I might call Patrick first though.”

Already, Yuri’s phone was in his hands, thumbs hovering over the screen as he tried to make his decision.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Victor said, turning to walk over to the small bathroom. He didn’t hear Yuri respond, but that was alright. As much as Victor needed a shower, he also needed a moment to collect himself.

Yuri had anxiety, and it was bad too, if that last attack demonstrated anything. Mentally, Victor was running over every conversation with Yuri, every interaction. A lot of it made sense now. Yuri’s reserved nature, his tendency to shy away and hang back from conversation. He wasn’t being rude, he was just…being Yuri. He was like one of the cats that Yurio had left with his grandpa back in Russia. Friendly once you got to know them, but cold and distant for months before they decided they could trust you.

What had caused this attack to be so bad? Distantly, Victor hoped his presence didn’t have anything to do with it. For the first time, it occurred to him that Yuri might be intimidated by him. Him, Victor Nikiforov, who seemingly took on competitions like they were a stroll around the park. Him, Victor Nikiforov, who talked to strangers and reporters like if they were friends he had known for years. Yuri must think…

Victor had no idea how to explain to himself what Yuri must think of him, but again, he had the vague idea of what the feeling might be. Distantly, he wondered if Yuri took meds to help with his condition. Certainly, they would help, and there was no shame in taking them. Would it be impolite to ask? He wasn’t sure, so he decided he wouldn’t. Yuri was very private. He probably hated the fact that he had been forced to divulge this less-than-perfect aspect of his life to Victor. If Yuri mentioned it, fine, but otherwise, Victor resolved to steer clear of any prodding questions about Yuri’s anxiety. Let Yuri come to him with information. Victor had meant what he had said so long ago, about being excited that they could hang out. Hopefully, if everything went right this weekend, he and Yuri would be closer by the end of it.

With that, Victor turned on the shower as worm as it would go and shucked off his clothes. His thoughts were still reeling as he stepped under the water, but eventually they subsided and Victor finished his shower in peace. When he stepped back into the main room, Yuri was tucked under the  heavy comforter of his bed, fast asleep. After studying him for a moment and ensuring all was well, Victor decided to follow Yuri’s lead. He slipped under the covers for his own bed and set an alarm to wake them up in an hour so they wouldn’t miss dinner. The lights, having never been turned on when they came in the room, were already off and Victor snuggled happily into the warm sheets. His wet hair curled around his ears and the nape of his neck, but he didn’t mind too much.

“Sleep tight, Yuri,” Victor mumbled.

Within moments, he too had fallen asleep. 

OOO

After they had both woken up from their nap, they headed up the street to the arena to squeeze in some more practice time before the short program tomorrow. As they walked, Victor kept a careful watch over Yuri out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t know much about anxiety attacks or how frequently they occurred, but he wanted to be ready to act at the first sign of Yuri’s distress. He would be ready next time, and every time after that. He would prove to Yuri that he could be trusted. Patrick couldn’t be there, but Victor was, and he would help Yuri to the best of his abilities.

As they walked, as they laced up their skates and as they began warming up however, the only thing that Victor noticed was that, for once, Yuri seemed far more at ease around him. There was still some tension lining his shoulders, but far more relaxed than he ever had been before in Victor’s presence. So much more relaxed that Victor didn’t know how he  _ hadn’t  _ noticed the anxiety that much have edged every line in Yuri’s body before. Evidentially, the shared experience of Yuri’s anxiety attack had broken down some of Yuri’s walls.

Victor couldn’t help but wonder how many more attacks Yuri would have to have before those walls were gone entirely.

He watched as Yuri flubbed the landing of a salchow for the fourth time in a row before he skated over. Previously, Yuri had always shaken off Victor’s offers to help with his skating, but now, with this…new dynamic between the two of them, maybe things would be different. Maybe Yuri would be more open to suggestions. Maybe he would let Victor help, more than that, let Victor in.

“I can give you some pointers with that, if you want,” Victor said, skating to a stop next to where Yuri had stopped to catch his breath next to one of the barriers. Yuri’s eyes flicked up to him, filled with surprise for the second time that day.

“I don’t know…” Yuri said, hesitating.

Well, that was better than the stiff rejection he usually gave Victor.

“Come on,” Victor said. “Weren’t you just telling Yurio the other day about how important it is to go to instructors for help when you’re struggling with something? Yuri, you’re a great skater, but you’re struggling here.”

Yuri’s shoulders slumped with defeat. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” Victor said.

Yuri studied him for a minute, probably trying to figure out if there was a catch of some sort, or analyzing all the different ways this could go poorly.

“No catch,” Victor said, “and no judgment. I just want to help you. Let me do that for you, Yuri.”

Slowly, Yuri nodded, and then he followed Victor farther out onto the ice.

“Right,” Victor said, coming to a stop again. His mouth felt unexpectedly dry all of a sudden. “So I think the main problem is that you keep swinging your free leg around.”

Yuri blushed. “I know,” he said. “I—I keep trying to correct it and…”

Victor smiled. He tried to morph his body language, his expression,  _ everything _ into understanding. He had told Yuri no judgement and he meant it.

“So what have you been doing to correct it?”

Yuri hesitated and then launched into an explanation, words stumbling over each other in his rush to push them out, like if he didn’t push them out all at once, then he wouldn’t be able to. His accent was strong through that nervousness, but Victor was able to figure out what he was saying beneath it. When Yuri was done, Victor nodded and had Yuri do the jump for him again. And then, only once he understood completely what was wrong and what needed to be fixed, did he begin to help Yuri piece together the way the jump should have been done, how best to correct it, how to move through it perfectly every time.

They worked through it for as long as they could, and this too, Victor thought, was another brick, or some other reinforcement in the bridge that was slowly, oh so slowly, being built between he and Yuri. None of the other skaters bother them and Victor was glad for it. This was a time just for he and Yuri and their love for skating. Anyone else would have been an unwanted invader on that peace, and the thought that this was now something he and Yuri could share on a deeper level, this world of jumps and step sequences, made his heart warm. Maybe they would finally make that step from rink-mates to friends after this.

Maybe maybe maybe. His heart sang the word over and over, filled with hope.

OOO

They wandered around for a little bit once the practice was over and ended up getting dinner at a sandwich shop Yuri found on his phone. By the end of the practice, Yuri had been landing all of his jumps fairly reliably and Victor was confident that he would continue to do so in both of his programs that weekend. Yuri, to Victor’s chagrin, was not so certain. It was infuriating, and he kept on doing his best to convince Yuri otherwise, even if his efforts seemed to be continuously in vain.

“Stop getting down on yourself,” Victor said. He didn’t know how many times he’d said that, or some iteration of it, now to Yuri. At least twenty. Almost definitely more. “You can do it. I know you can.”

Yuri shook his head. “You don’t understand.”

Victor huffed. “Then explain it to me.”

Yuri glared at him, but Victor set down his sandwich and leaned forward, completely serious.

“I mean it,” Victor said. “Please, Yuri, explain this to me. You were practically perfect by the end of practice! Why are you insisting that you can’t do this?”

“Because I know I can’t,” Yuri said.

“Wrong,” Victor said. “Or false. Whatever. We both know you can make those jumps. You literally were just making them. What’s going to happen between now and tomorrow that’s going to stop that?”

“Today was  _ practice _ ,” Yuri said. “It’s different.”

Victor considered this for a moment.

“Why?” he asked at last. “Because of your anxiety?”

Yuri nodded solemnly.

Victor tapped his finger on his lips as he processed that additional information. He tried not to let thoughts of how sophisticated and wise and clever he looked as he did that upstage what he really needed to focus on here.

“The crowd makes you anxious?” Victor asked. It wasn’t really a question, but Victor wanted the confirmation that came with Yuri’s nod to make sure he wasn’t just making assumptions. He had never struggled with anxiety before, not the way that Yuri did. He didn’t want to rush in and try to be the expert when he so clearly wasn’t.

“It’s why—it’s why I don’t wear contacts when I skate,” Yuri said. “Instead of being a thousand faces who can judge me, who have an opinion on what I’m skating, who have expectations about how I’ll skate, they become faceless, meaningless, just one big colorful blob that I can almost,  _ almost _ , pretend doesn’t matter. It’s not a huge difference, but it helps a little.”

Again, this was something that Victor took a minute or so to turn over in his mind. He cherished this, receiving all these little pieces of Yuri that added so much more depth and meaning to what made him  _ him.  _ Victor didn’t want to take any of it lightly.

“Why does the judgement and expectations of the crowd make you nervous?” Victor asked.

The crowd had only ever filled Victor with a sense of empowerment. For a few minutes, he was the center of the world. He controlled what they felt and believed. They bowed down to worship the routines he played out on the ice. They loved him. He knew that. Their adoration was so tangible that when Victor stepped on the ice, he felt invincible, immortal even. He had never known, never would have guessed, that it wasn’t like that for everyone.

Yuri just gaped at him. Okay then, not only was Yuri having a slightly different experience, he was having and  _ extremely _ different experience. Victor did his best to see that situation through Yuri’s eyes. Perhaps he felt trapped, like something put under a microscope, or like some small pet trapped in its cage while it was surrounded by over-eager strangers. His stomach rolled. He suppressed a shudder. It was an imperfect imagining, but even if it was only a portion of what Yuri felt…

“I just want to understand what you’re feeling when you get on the ice,” Victor said. “Help me understand. Tell me. You don’t have to run away from me all the time, Yuri,” he continued and his mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I promise I won’t bite unless you ask me to.”

Yuri’s eyes flared wider and Victor reeled himself back a bit. Yuri had a boyfriend. Victor probably shouldn’t be saying things like that to him.

“What I mean is,” Victor said, “I want you to help me understand this. I want to be there for you.”

Yuri’s gaze flickered down to what was left of the paper wrapping for his sandwich. He fiddled with it with idle hands. Victor resisted the urge to reach out and still them.

“I don’t think this is a thing that can be helped, Victor,” he said quietly. “It’s just the way it is. And I’m sorry, but you can’t…you can’t—”

If there was one thing that Victor hated, it was people telling him what he could and couldn’t do.

“You don’t know that,” he said, and there was a little more snap to his voice than he intended. Yuri went very, very still. Victor snatched up his hand from where it was lying on the table. “It doesn’t always have to be this way between the two of us, after all. If you would just—”

Yuri’s looked up at Victor with bold defiance. Clearly, Victor had said the wrong thing. Yuri was looking at him not as a friend, but as an enemy, like if Victor was trying to steal something close and precious to Yuri’s heart. It was confusing, and more than a little unsettling. He pulled his hand slowly out of Victor’s. Victor let him. 

“Yes, I do know it,” Yuri said. His voice was icy; none of the hesitant familiarity that they had established that afternoon remained. “And it does, Victor. Trust me, it does.”

Victor’s thoughts must have been written all over his face because Yuri sighed suddenly and started wrapping up the paper from his sandwich with a note of finality. Conversation over.

“Why don’t we start heading back, okay?” Yuri asked. “It’s been a long day and I’m tired.”

Victor scanned Yuri’s face for a moment, looking for any trace of the man he’d been dining with just been dining with minutes before. He marked the tight, stubborn line of Yuri’s mouth, his lowered brows, the exhaustion that filled his eyes and traced its way along his temples and cheeks. He nodded once, firmly.

“Alright,” he agreed, standing.

Yuri took a moment longer to get up, pausing to tug on his blue and grey warm up jacket. Victor left a tip on the table, hoping he had left enough and that this was the kind of place where people left tips on the table. It wasn’t yet a practice he was used to, and he didn’t want to mess it up. Together, the two of them slipped out into the night. For several minutes, neither spoke, but then Yuri broke the silence.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m being rude and ungrateful and—”

“It’s fine. I understand,” Victor said, cutting him off smoothly.

Yuri’s brown eyes widened a fraction with surprise behind his blue half-frames.

“You do?” he asked.

Victor didn’t, but he also didn’t really want to be talking about this anymore. He nodded. Yuri sighed in relief.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Victor glanced at him sidelong for a moment before he went back to studying the buildings around them. He hadn’t had any time to make any trips to Detroit proper in the last few months and his heart sang to be back in a city, even one so different from dear, sweet Petersburg. People passed them by, little more than apparitions in the night, living lives that Victor would never know anything about. Lights were on in one of the buildings they passed, offering small snapshots of rooms he would never enter, stages perfectly set for the occupants who were their stars. Snippets of conversation floated by him, most of it inconsequential to his ears.

Being in a city had always reminded Victor that there was  _ more _ to life and left him with an aching desire to go find whatever it was. He loved cities. Lived for them, really. The crush of people was a blanket reminding him that he was not alone, that this world was bigger than the small dramas of his life on bad days. On good days, it was an audience that he could celebrate the miracle of being alive with. No matter what though, that feel of the city pressing around him always put a spring in his step. It was easy to believe in miracles when he could bear witness to steel and concrete skyscrapers reaching defiantly for the clouds.

A police siren sounded a few miles away and Victor debated just…opening his mouth and telling Yuri about Petersburg. About the park he and Makkachin used to walk through in the afternoons. About how he had liked walking or biking by the stretch of river near his apartment and saying hello to people he didn’t know. He ached to tell Yuri how beautiful the city was, and how he loved seeing the buildings light up the night but hadn’t realized until he moved here that he hated he couldn’t see the stars there more. Yuri’s eyes were dark and thoughtful where Victor risked a glance at him, though, so he elected to stay quiet. He knew he could be annoying sometimes, running his mouth with stories no one wanted to hear. Now was not the time to annoy Yuri.

They came up to the hotel and Yuri hesitated for a moment.

“Do you want to keep walking?” he asked. “If you don’t, I understand, but I think better when I’m moving and I hate wandering around cities by myself.”

Victor smiled and nodded. The silence that stretched between them wasn’t tense, but companionable. It seemed to Victor that this was one of those rare, peaceful moments that he would hold onto when he was struck with homesickness, or an all-encompassing sense of isolation. In short, it was the kind of moment he wanted to keep experiencing for as long as he could. Later, perhaps, he would try to capture the feeling of right now. Most likely, he’d fail, but for now, he was happy to walk with Yuri as long as Yuri would let him.

He and Yuri continued down the street. More buildings rose around them, broken here and there by small open spaces. They passed under bridges linking buildings over the street, an old movie theater, and another with a vertical red marquee that read “riverside” in big white letters, until they reached the river, where they turned without speaking and started down the path that ran by its edge. Here again, Victor debated telling Yuri about the rivers and canals that flowed through Petersburg, the stretch of path like this one near his apartment, and the gulls that sounded over the water, but once again, he didn’t want to derail whatever train of thought Yuri was riding, so he stayed silent.

Instead, Victor thought about how the conversation would have gone if Yuri wasn’t so caught up in his own thoughts. He would have told Yuri everything about the stretch of river, Yuri might have told him about a similar sort of landmark near his home. Victor would have listened attentively, starved as he was for any details he could glean about Yuri’s private life. Maybe Yuri would have brought up his family in talking about that special place, maybe Victor would have asked after them. And then Victor would have the opportunity to talk about his own family. He would have told Yuri about Makkachin, with an affectionate eye-roll and an “obviously,” then about Yakov, who had taught him just about life as he had about skating. He would have counted Yurio as his little brother, maybe counted Lilia as a stern aunt or grandmother. He would have mentioned how his father was always so consumed with business that Victor honestly forgot sometimes they were related. He would have told Yuri about how his mother died in a car crash when he was twelve.

He tried to imagine how would react to this information. Laugh at the inclusion of Makkachin, smile at how Victor described Yakov and Yurio, nod along with the Victor’s stumbling explanation of Lilia. For his relations with his blood family, however, Victor suspected that Yuri would have been sympathetic, caring. Despite the ice and distance that often separated the two of them, Victor knew that Yuri was ultimately a kind and gentle person. He’d witnessed it the other night with Yuri’s treatment of Yurio, and in countless other smaller interactions with Patrick and his other friends. Victor couldn’t help but smile at his own certainty, and Yuri’s imagined reaction. No one had ever comforted him over his complicated relationship with his father, the sorrow of his mother’s fate that stuck him every now and then. He hadn’t even realized that he wanted to be comforted, needed it even, until he dreamed of Yuri doing just that.

_ I want to know you,  _ he was tempted to say to Yuri.  _ And I want you to know me too. _

They paused and Victor thought Yuri was going to say something significant, but instead he turned away from the river to look at Victor.

“Ready to go back?” he asked.

Victor nodded. They traced their way back to the hotel in the same silence that had accompanied them as they had traveled away from it. Around them, the city continued to clank and clatter, heaving with its own breaths as it went on living. Victor turned his thoughts away from Yuri and instead focused on that sound. If he tried hard enough, he could almost imagine he was home. The feeling was bittersweet in his mouth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So Muse and I are back at school! Yay! 
> 
> Updates for now are going to be as Muse edits, but we're going to do our best to stick to the every-other-day format. Updates will be in the mornings, hopefully before 11:30 (because that's the most consistent free time I have from day to day).


	5. Chapter 5

The weekend went by without further incident. Yuri took third. Victor, unsurprisingly, took first. Celestino was understandably proud, but he seemed more impressed with Yuri’s accomplishment. It almost made Victor wonder if this was a big feat for Yuri, getting on the podium. Was his anxiety such that he always got overwhelmed at competitions like this? Victor didn’t know whether to feel bad for the constant struggle Yuri must have faced, or be impressed that he constantly overcame it. When he looked at the proud set of Yuri’s shoulders though and the wonder filling his eyes, Victor was more inclined to be impressed. Yuri was a phenomenal skater, when he believed in himself. He deserved this.

Everyone was waiting for them at the airport, including, Victor was happy to see, a very grumpy looking Yurio. Theia and Patrick were even holding signs; Patrick’s read “the most beautiful, talented, and all-around wonderful boyfriend in the world” in big letters. Theia’s read “our crazy famous friend.” As they got closer, Victor realized their names had been written in smaller letters and contained by parenthesis as the bottom of each sign. Patrick’s obviously, was for Yuri. He was pleasantly surprised to see that Theia’s was for him though. It made him smile.

Yuri went right to Patrick’s arms and immediately started crying. Victor’s heart dropped out as he wondered if he had caused it.

“Is he…?” he trailed off, leaving Theia to figure out what he meant.

“He’s fine,” she said, matching his lowered voice. “I think he’s just a little overwhelmed.”

“He had an anxiety attack, or was in the middle of one, when we got to the hotel the first day,” Victor said. Internally, he cringed as soon as the words came out of his mouth. Would Yuri mind him telling Theia about that?

But Theia just nodded sympathetically. “I bet he did. Was he alright?”

“I did my best to help out,” Victor supplied.

Patrick had tucked Yuri’s sign away somewhere else and was now rubbing his hands up and down Yuri’s arms. He leaned back, asked Yuri a question, Yuri nodded. He was still sniffling a little.

“We’re going to head out,” Patrick told Theia quietly. Victor watched as he swung his arm over Yuri’s shoulders, watched as Yuri leaned into the embrace.

The memory of Yuri flinching away from him rose from Victor’s memory. He turned away.

“Do you want to get dinner or anything?” Theia asked.

Victor shook his head. “It it’s alright with you, I’d rather head back to my apartment. Maybe order some take-out. Are you giving me a ride, or do we need to hunt down Yuri and Patrick?”

Theia chuckled. “I think Patrick knew this was going to happen. We came in separate cars. I borrowed my parent’s minivan.”

“We’re still debating whether we want to call it the swag wag or the mom-mobile,” Phichit said. He was grinning at Victor. Victor smiled back at him as their little group started walking towards the exit.

“I can’t believe Yuri got third,” Phichit whispered to himself.

Victor glanced at him. “He deserves it. I think he might be able to make it to the Grand Prix Finals too, if he keeps it up.”

Theia gasped. “Oh, I hope he does! I know he’s always wanted to.”

“It almost makes me wish I had stayed in the Junior division,” Phichit said. “Then I might have gotten to go with you two.”

“Eh, you’ll get to go in the future, I bet,” Theia said. “And you know the price for leaving the Juniors was worth it.”

“What was the price?” Victor asked.

“Living with Yuri,” Phichit said. “All the Junior skaters have to live in the dorm, but the senior skaters are allowed to rent their own apartments.”

“Ah,” Victor said. “Hardly seems like a ‘price’ at all.”

“Exactly,” Phichit replied.

Victor glanced around when they reached the parking lot to see if he could find Yuri and Patrick, but they had wandered too far ahead already. His heart sank, although he wasn’t certain why. He was surrounded by his friends, laughing and talking with him and reveling over his most recent victory. Even Yurio’s grumpy demeanor seemed to be more of a show than a representation of how he truly felt. So it shouldn’t have mattered that Yuri and Patrick weren’t there to share the moment. They needed to be alone together, after all. Victor couldn’t fault them for that.

Somehow, though, he was still disappointed, and their absence still stung.

OOO

Yuri heaved out another shuddering breath and nestled closer to Patrick. He had started crying as soon as he’d seen his boyfriend standing at the airport with that sign which was just so... _Patrick._ His tears had slowed down after a few minutes, a process sped along by Patrick’s soothing presence, but they started up in earnest again every time he thought about finishing either of his programs, and knowing they were the best he had ever done, or the feeling and the weight of the bronze medal as it had been draped around his neck, or landing that salchow in his short program that first day and knowing in that moment that he wouldn’t just skate these routines, but live them. The stunning realization that he might actually have a shot at the podium this time as he’d made that conclusion.

Even thinking about Patrick, always there, always proud of him, always waiting patiently for him, was enough to set off the waterworks.

Patrick, as if knowing what Yuri was thinking, pressed a kiss to Yuri’s temple. Yuri sighed, content to be held and comforted by his boyfriend, the best boyfriend, he was convinced, in the entire damn world. He felt pleasantly heavy all over, and the temptation to just fall asleep, wrapped up here in Patrick’s arms on the ragged loveseat was strong.

“I love you,” Patrick murmured into his hair.

“I love you too,” Yuri breathed.

He opened his eyes and glanced up at Patrick, who in turn smiled down at him. Yuri couldn’t help but reach his finger out and trace the smooth, dark plains of Patrick’s cheeks and the slightly paler lines of his lips. Patrick kissed his knuckles.

“I missed you,” Yuri said.

“I missed you too,” came the reply.

It had only been a weekend, and of course they had talked over the phone, as well as texting and snapchatting each other constantly, but none of that could ever replace this, the simple pleasure that Yuri received from being held in his boyfriend’s arms, and feeling Patrick’s steady heartbeat beneath his fingers. Patrick kept stroking his hands up and down Yuri’s arms, and that too, was a comforting gesture that could never be replicated over the phone or through a text. He went back to resting his head on Patrick’s collarbone.

“Do you want anything to eat?” Patrick asked, breaking the silence. “I don’t have anything really special here, but I could make some pasta real fast, or a killer PB&J. I also have grandpa’s mac and cheese recipe if you’re willing to wait a little bit longer.

Yuri opened his mouth to say that he wasn’t hungry, but his stomach rumbled in contradiction. Patrick laughed; Yuri blushed.

“Pasta’s fine,” he said, “if it’s not too much trouble.”

Patrick kissed him gently, then stood up. “For you, it’s never any trouble at all,” he said.

Yuri listened to the sound Patrick’s feet made as he padded into the kitchen, listened to the rustling clatter noise of pasta being shaken in the box and the hiss of water as it filled the pot. The stove clicked as Patrick turned on the burner, then there was the whoosh as the flame caught. Patrick hummed a little to himself as he worked, an upbeat song that Yuri knew was one of his favorites. He stood and went over to the tiny kitchen, mostly cordoned off from the rest of the apartment in the corner. He came up behind Patrick in the narrow space and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s middle. His heart was singing. He smiled. A part of him would always call Hasetsu home, but another part of him knew that his true home was here with Patrick, and that it had been for a long time.

“Hello,” Patrick said, turning around to kiss him again, careful not to lean back onto the lit stove.

“I’m going to the Final this year,” Yuri said. The admission and the certainty in his voice as he uttered it surprised him, but he didn’t take it back or try to downplay it.

“I know,” Patrick said. His voice was equally firm, “I’ve always known you’d make it someday, but something is different this year, isn’t it?”

Yuri nodded and Patrick squeezed him tighter.

“Tell me I’m not the best damn trophy husband on this planet,” Patrick said. “Better than any the world has ever seen before.”

“Boyfriend,” Yuri mumbled. “Unless you’re proposing?”

His heart skipped a beat as the words slipped out of his mouth. He had meant is as a joke, but it had slipped into a question at the end. He knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Patrick. It was just one of those things that felt right in his bones, and he knew that Patrick wanted the same. But to have it said in so few words…

“Babe, my _real_ proposal will knock your socks off,” Patrick chuckled. “Right now, the plan includes actual fireworks, but for now, consider this a promise: when we graduate, you and I are going to have the wedding of our dreams.”

“I can’t wait,” Yuri said. He tried to play it off lightly, but the words felt tight in his throat. Tears, however, felt very far away. If anything, he felt he was most at risk of flying away on a wave of giddy laughter. He had taken third at Skate America. He was determined to make it to the Grand Prix Finals, and the determination only cement his certainty. And most of all—best of all—he had the firm promise of Patrick’s love, and their future together, a steady foundation that he could build all of his other dreams on.

It was almost enough to make him wish that the moment would never end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today, but Muse and I talked about it and she thought it would be better to keep it as is rather than cut parts or smoosh it in somewhere else. ~~although, it's funny; for UYRtM, this would have been average...go writing growth!~~
> 
> Also, it's kinda fun to mess with y'all. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> If any of you are missing Muse, let me know and I'll tell her to swing by and see ya. Second year of pre-med is no easier than the first and she is already lowkey dying (seriously, I haven't seen her in person for more than five minutes since we got back and she's my best friend). I have a crazy workload this semester, but I'll do my best to respond to comments whenever I have a spare minute (it's how I stay sane lol), so if you have thoughts or feelings or predictions, share them! I love talking to you guys!


	6. Chapter 6

Later that week, they drove to another one of the suburbs surrounding Detroit to have a victory dinner at Patrick’s grandpa’s house. His hair had long since turned silver but he spoke with a fierce, proud Irish accent and youthful mischief shone in his eyes. He teased Patrick fondly, traded jokes with Yuri and doted on Phichit and Theia. Victor and Yurio were included in the group of people the man counted as family as soon as he saw them. It was the most at home, most welcomed and loved, Victor had felt since he had moved here. The food was good and stories about Yuri and Patrick and Theia’s misadventures in their early college years flew through the air. Victor spend a lot of time grinning for no good reason and laughing at everything that was said.

All too quickly though, the joy of his and Yuri’s success at Skate America was overshadowed by the group’s stressful preparation for StS2. Every conversation between Yuri and Theia and Patrick seemed to be about outfits, or the theme, or some logistical problem that one of the had heard about. Patrick and Theia, as members of the club’s executive board, seemed to be swamped with the most work, but Yuri was always around, trying to take some of the load off of his best friend’s and boyfriend’s shoulders. Even Phichit wanted a piece of the action. Because he was underage, he wouldn’t be able to go to the event himself, but he wanted to know all of the details and kept reminding his older friends to take lots of pictures and come back with stories.

Victor sat and smiled through all of the talk. He was intending to go see them, of course. A one night only strip club starring all of his friends as they raised money for charity was right up his alley, after all. He, like Phichit, almost wished that he could be involved in it with them, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t in college anymore. He was, as strange as it was to remember, their senior. He was an outsider to all of this, and that thought, whenever it crossed his mind, disoriented him a little. He didn’t like the sinking feeling it left in his chest, the way it made everything in his mind go still.

With Friday, planning ceased. Hushed anticipation fell over his friends. Theia drove to Detroit to pick up her girlfriend, who had hitched a ride from New York to come see her. Yuri practiced with Victor at the rink in the morning, but he kept to himself and Victor let him. He didn’t understand how Yuri could be consumed with anxiety over a simple skating competition, and yet was somehow perfectly fine with stripping for strangers, but if Victor had learned anything in Milwaukee, it was when he could push Yuri for answers and when he couldn’t. Today was not a day for pushing, so for Yuri’s sake, Victor set his burning questions aside.

They all got dinner together at Colonel’s, then Yuri, Patrick, and Theia headed off to wherever it was that they needed to report to before they could start getting ready. Phichit went to go study with some friends at Graeme’s, which was a coffee shop in the campus town the group frequented on less busy nights. Victor saw to it that Yurio made it to the Junior skater dorm safely and that was it. He was all alone with nothing else to do, or at least, he would be until StS2 started. He paced around his apartment, restless, trying to find something to do to occupy his time. He took a shower. He rearranged all his books. He unpacked his last box and spent a fair amount of time trying to decide where to put all the extraneous knick-knacks it had contained. Makkachin watched all of this from the couch. He would thump his tail in anticipation of a scratch behind his ears or a belly rub every time Victor passed. Victor always obliged.

He jumped when his phone started ringing loudly from where he had left it on the counter, but he scrambled to it all the same. He checked the caller ID before he answered it, though, and frowned. Zarya. She’d been a rink mate, and a great friend back in Petersburg, but they had barely talked since the move. She had moved to Moscow with her little sister, Mila, if he remembered correctly, to train under a coach there. Why was she calling him  _ now? _ It was the middle of the night there. Past it, actually. Nearly  _ dawn.  _

“Hello?” he asked uncertainty once he picked up the call.

“Victor!” Zarya screamed. “Victor, you’ll never believe it!”

She hiccuped and Victor narrowed his eyes in suspicion. He could hear music crackling behind her voice.  “Zarya, are you drunk?” he asked.

She giggled. “That doesn’t matter. Victor, Georgi has a girlfriend!”

He gasped. Georgi? Overly-dramatic, couldn’t flirt with anyone to save his life  _ Georgi? _

“Tell me everything,” he demanded.

She giggled again. “I don’t know all the details, but apparently, they’ve been dating in secret for like, forever. I only found out because I went out tonight and caught them kissing. I ran to the bathroom to tell you as soon as I saw.”

“No!”

“Yes! And what’s more,” she said, taking a moment to pause dramatically. “What’s more, Victor, is that I don’t think they’re even soulmates!”

Victor blinked. He knew that Zarya expected him to gasp, expected him to be scandalized by this new piece of gossip, but he wasn’t. Maybe he would have been once, but he knew about Yuri and Patrick now, knew that there were such things as couples in unshakable relationships who were  _ not _ soulmates. He knew from observation and experience that such relationships could be stronger than those of predestined soulmates.

“Victor, didn’t you hear me?” Zarya shrieked. “Georgi! Dating a girl! Dating a girl who’s not his soulmate!”

“I heard you,” Victor said. “I just don’t see why them not being soulmates is such a big deal.”

He could practically hear Zarya rolling her eyes at him.

“Victor, they’re not soulmates. It’s not going to last.  _ That’s  _ the big deal.”

“How do you know that?” He demanded. “How do you know they’re not going to last?”

He felt defensive, though he wasn’t sure why. Suddenly, Zarya, though the same age as him, seemed childish. Ignorant of greater and more noble truths that Victor had discovered. She didn’t understand. Couldn’t. He knew that she, like him, was holding out hope that her soulmate would come along eventually; he knew that it was all that she, like him, really wanted for a long term relationship, but what did she know of people who wanted different? He was filled with an overwhelming desire to protect Yuri and Patrick, to protect the alternative world that they proved was possible. 

Zarya didn’t respond and for several seconds, Victor just listened to the noise that surrounded her on her end of the line. He thought he could hear her talking to somebody. Probably. Zarya hated being alone even more than he did. He could just picture her, seeing Georgi with this girl, then dragging whatever boy happened to be her latest victim into the bathroom with her when she called him. 

“Zarya,” he shouted, just to check that she hadn’t completely forgotten about him. 

He loved her dearly, but she was childish and scatterbrained and he wouldn’t put it past her to have put her phone down in the middle of a conversation and not pick it up again until she and her companion finished whatever it was they were doing. 

“Hmmm?” She asked picking up the phone again. “Victor, honey, I have to tell you: going out really isn’t as fun without you. There’s no one to judge outfits with me. Some of the girls tonight--ugh. Absolutely horrendous. When are you coming home? I miss you terribly.”

“When Yakov comes back,” Victor said with a wry smile. 

Never, then, considering the odds Victor currently held of Yakov and Lillia staying together if they, in their stubborness, never changed, and remained committed to and focused on everything  _ but _ each other. 

“And Makka!” Zarya continued, seemingly without registering his comment. “I miss my sweet baby! How’s he doing? How’s my little darling?”

At that Victor chuckled. Zarya had always adored Makkachin. Makka had loved her for the first five minutes they had known each other, and then grown a strong aversion to his friend. She had a tendency to squeeze him too tightly when she held him, after all, and all Zarya ever wanted to do was hold Makka. 

“He’s good,” Victor said, glancing over at where the poodle had flopped up on the couch besides him. “He’s sleeping.”

“Oh, my sweetheart. Can I see him? Do you have a photo?”

It wasn’t so much a question as a demand, and Victor obliged, pulling up his camera on his phone so he could send her a photo. It wasn’t until after he had sent it that he saw the time. 

“ _ Derr`mo,” _ he cursed. Somehow, in all the little things he had done to distract himself until it  _ was _ time to leave, he had lost track of how late it was actually getting. 

“What? What is it?” Zarya asked absently. “Oh, Victor, Makka looks so cute, give him all my love for me, alright?”

“Alright,” Victor said, scrambling to remember where he’d left his things. “Look, Zarya, I promised my friends that I’d go to this thing tonight and it’s almost over. I want to see if I can catch the tail end of it.”

“Sure,” Zarya said, surprisingly agreeable in her intoxicated state. “Call me again soon though, darling. I miss you and we don’t talk nearly enough.”

“Of course,” Victor said. “Now, I really have to go. Talk to you later, Zarya.”

“Goodbye darling; go have fun!”

He chuckled after she had hung up, and then he was moving, scooping up his wallet from the counter and his keys from the hook by the door. He slid on his loafers once he found them in the corner by the coach and started towards the door. He glanced back over his shoulder at Makkachin once before he opened it.

“ _ Behave,” _ he told the poodle firmly.

Makkachin happily thumped his tail against the couch in response. Victor left with a smile, striding quickly down the hall. He really, really didn’t want to miss the end of this. He really hoped nobody would notice if he did. They’d understand, of course. Theia, being the mother hen that she was, constantly chided him for not talking to people back home often enough. Victor, being Victor, kept forgetting to heed her orders. She would be happy that he had spent some time talking on the phone with Zarya. Yuri and Patrick would be sad he had missed out, but would understand too, in that kind way of theirs.

The problem was, though, Victor didn’t want to have to put them into a position where they would have to try and understand his absence. He wanted to be able to share a portion of the night with them. He wanted to be able to give back and get involved with something that was clearly so important to all of them.

He plugged the name of the club—The Backbeat, Theia had said it was called—into his phone when he hit the street and started walking. On any other day, Victor wouldn’t have considered it a far walk, only ten or fifteen minutes away, after all, and a straight shot up the street, but tonight, he wished he had the power to make that distance even smaller. He felt like he every crosswalk he came to once he hit the Campustown was stuck on the orange hand; wait, don’t walk, don’t go. The entire universe, it seemed, was colluding to keep him from getting to the Backbeat in time. The sidewalks were overcrowded too, slowing his pace significantly as he struggled to get past loiters. Eventually, though, he reached the club. A marquee spelling out “The Backbeat” in a rainbow of neon lights hung from the corner of the building. Multicolored light spilled onto the street from the giant, arched, story-high windows. Even from the sidewalk, Victor could hear the steady thrum of the music playing inside.

There wasn’t a line and Victor showed his ID and paid the cover without any trouble before slipping inside. For as intimidating as Victor had thought the building may have looked from the outside, the inside of the backbeat was…incredible. At first impression, it was the only word his mind could pull up to describe the place, and then it scrambled for more, as was his poetic habit whenever he took in new scene. It was gorgeous. Giant arched mirrors mimicking the windows in the front of the building hung along the wall, opening up the already large space even more. A sleek, modern looking metal staircase led to the loft that wrapped around three walls above the main floor. Booths were tucked into the dark space beneath it. The bar ran almost the entire length of one of the longer walls. A beautiful crystal chandelier fitted out with dim multicolor lights hung above the whole scene. Music crashed out of every corner of the place.

“Hi!” A girl chirped next to him. Victor jumped.

He had been so entranced with the beautiful interior that he hadn’t even noticed her standing in the shadow by the door. She was pretty, Victor supposed. There were rainbow streaks in her hair and her entire shimmering silver outfit was accented with more of them. He couldn’t help but gape at her now that he saw her, still overwhelmed with everything going on and her sudden appearance at his side. She smiled coyly at him and he glanced back at the dancefloor. Somehow, even though Yuri and Patrick and Theia had talked about how extensively planned StS2 was, he had never pictured anything as full scale as this. It was terrifying. It was thrilling. It was the most fantastic thing Victor had ever seen.

“Most of our dancers are set up on that main floor,” The girl said, following the line of Victor’s gaze. “If you want a private dance, let the person know, pay them, and they’ll be sure to take care of you.”

Victor nodded numbly. He had no idea how he was going to find his friends in all of this.

“We also have a lounge set up upstairs if you’re looking for something more low-key and club style downstairs in the basement lounge,” she continued, gesturing to a set of stairs leading down next to the bar. Victor hadn’t even noticed them in his preliminary scan of the place.

“The bar is serving everyone of age as well, and again, all proceeds from the event tonight will go to the Trevor Project,” she finished.

Victor gave her a queasy smile and said thank you before heading into the milling crowd around the main stage. A pole had been set up, and someone Victor didn’t recognize was in the middle of their routine. He glanced around, hoping against hope that he would spot a familiar face in the crush of the crowd. He’d been chuckling all week at the mental image of what his friends would look like as strippers; now it was looking like he would never get to see the reality. 

The dancer on the main stage finished their routine with a flourishing bow and walked of the stage, swaying their hips. Several members of the crowd around Victor surged to approach them as soon as their feet hit the floor, but Victor stayed where he was. A man leaped up onto the stage, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and a twinkling mesh shirt. Gemstones glittered at his ears, around his wrists, in his hair. He reminded Victor of the embodiment of a rain shower. Maybe that was the point. Rainbow girl. Rain boy. A dancer who must have been trying to emulate the clouds. He couldn’t help but wonder who would be next.

“Alright!” Rain boy shouted into the microphone he was holding. “I have an update on fundraising!”

The crowd cheered; Rain boy smiled coyly.

“Y’all are such trouble makers,” he murmured into the mic. Even amplified through speakers, he spoke with a lover’s voice. Victor cocked an eyebrow. If he couldn’t find his friends, maybe he could still have some fun.

“And you know what?” Rain boy is said. “It’s paying off. I’m here to tell you that as of right now we have raised five thousand and eight dollars for the Trevor Project!” The crowd cheered. Rain boy stopped being coy and a genuine smile lit up his face.

“We’re doing some really great work here tonight, Fam. Thank you for coming out, thank you for donating. You are helping to save lives, helping to empower people who’ve spent too long questioning their identities and we all appreciate it.”

“Bring ‘em out!” Someone shouted in the crowd around Victor.

Rain boy laughed. “I was just getting to that,” he said. He paused for a minute, and shrugged on the persona of the coy show master once more.

“Now, because y’all have broken that 5K mark,” he said. “Y’all are getting a little treat. Please help me welcome to the stage your favorites after all these years, Whiplash and Supernova in an original, duet act!”

The crowd screamed, Rain boy hopped down from the stage, and a few people flooded him, looking for a private dance or to stick bills in his underwear, but most were transfixed on the stage. Victor’s heart dropped out as music started playing and then there was Yuri, wearing his underwear and a gossamer scrap of a silver-grey top that twinkled in the light. More gems ran across the his back as he turned, covering up his back shoulder blade and meandering down his spine like a scattering of stars. The gems were on his arms too, and the planes of his stomach, peppered around his sultry eyes. He was the night, personified, triumphant, beautiful in all his majesty.

For a moment, Victor forgot how to breathe.

Patrick was there in another measure, and people around Victor turned their whoops away from Yuri’s icy beauty to Patrick’s burning flame.

If Yuri was the night, cold and beautiful and untouchable, than Patrick was the day, blazing with a fierce glory. Everything about Patrick was gold; the shadow on his eyes and glimmering on his cheeks and chest, the bands snaking their way up his arms, his underwear. He hadn’t even bothered to wear a shirt; someone had just painted his chest with white and gold designs.

Victor watched them dance, enraptured. It was clear that this wasn’t  _ his _ Yuri, or the Patrick that he knew, but a show that they were putting on, but that didn’t make them any less captivating. Again and again, Victor’s eyes kept straying to Yuri and the way his friend moved around the pole in conjunction with Patrick. Yuri looked as comfortable there as he did on the ice when he was practicing. Not tense, not worried about what other people would think of him. Free. It was the most beautiful thing Victor has ever seen. His heart sang, his chest filled with warmth. His—

Heat rose to his cheeks as he realized that he was filled with more than just happiness and awe at the beauty and skill of his friend. He slipped back into the crowd, away from Yuri and Patrick before it could get any worse, or before either of them noticed him. He had always noticed that Yuri was attractive, of course. With someone like Yuri, it was hard  _ not _ to notice. But this…this was treading dangerous territory. Territory he wasn’t sure he was willing to cross into. Yuri was with Patrick. Yuri was with Patrick, and this was just Victor’s body reacting to a stupid strip-tease, a stupid pole dance. It was nothing. Yuri was with Patrick.

He got to the bar and ordered a stiff drink, which he downed in under a minute. He ordered another one and while the bartender was getting it ready, someone came up beside him. He turned to tell whoever it was, probably one of the “strippers” that he wasn’t interested in anything, but it was Theia. She quirked an eyebrow at him and smiled, and he returned it with a grin of his own.

“Theia!” he cheered.

She laughed. Not giggled, not anything else. She tipped her head back and laughed, pure and clear. The fact that she wasn’t trying to be seductive, wasn’t trying to put on show for him, instantly had Victor’s shoulder’s relaxing and his mind turning away from his reaction to Yuri. He was with his friend; he had nothing to worry about.

“Actually, it’s ‘Aria’ tonight,” she said, “but how are you doing, hun?”

He matched her posture, leaning with his back and elbows against the bar. Something about Theia’s presence—probably her inherently motherly demeanor—was working wonders on pulling him off the ledge of his earlier almost-freak-out.

“Pretty well,” he said automatically.

She smiled, genuinely. “Good. You having fun?”

He nodded.

“Have you seen Yuri and Patrick?” she asked, jerking her head towards that mainstage.

Victor’s laugh was a little more nervous than he had meant it to be, but Theia didn’t seem to notice.

“Yes,” he admitted. “They’re quite something.”

Theia chuckled. “That’s one word for it.”

“It’s…strange,” Victor confessed. “Seeing them in that context.”

“I know,” Theia said, nodding. “They’re good at turning the sex appeal on when they need to, I guess, but I’m so used to seeing them as the dorks they are that it always freaks me out for a minute or so when they get down to this.”

Victor didn’t have anything to say to that, so he just took a sip from the drink the bartender had set by his elbow.

“They always do a double act,” Theia continued, “when we hit that five thousand mark. They raise a lot of money individually, so the idea is that putting them together when we reach that milestone helps to keep the hype up and people emptying their wallets.”

“That makes sense,” Victor said. His traitorous eyes strayed to where Yuri and Patrick were still dancing. They followed every curve and twist and bend of Yuri’s body. His mind whispered ideas of what it would feel like to have Yuri’s skin on his. Victor hastily took another sip.

“It helps that they’re both really hot,” Theia said. “And that because they’re dating they somehow make it feel more…”

“R-rated?” Victor offered. “Explicit? Provocative?”

Theia chuckled again. She was dressed in a spectrum of colors that ranged from pale yellow to bold orange to bright red and finally dark purple, like a sunset. Gold was streaked through her hair.

“Where’s Maria?” he asked, looking around for Theia’s girlfriend. He was surprised that she wasn’t at Theia’s side, staking a claim.

“She went home,” Theia said, waving a hand. “She had a long trip today and she knows I won’t be back until late, so she wanted to get some sleep.”

Theia bumped him with her shoulder. “You two need to meet. I think you’d like her.”

“Alright,” Victor agreed. “Are we still planning on doing something as a group tomorrow?”

Theia opened her mouth to reply, but then, inexplicably, Yuri and Patrick were there. Victor hadn’t even heard their music end. He gaped at them, then glanced away. He didn’t trust himself to look directly at Yuri right now. Unbidden, a Tolstoy quote rose to Victor’s mind, from a book that he had been made to read at some point in his education. ‘He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.’ 

Funny, that Victor would think of it now, when the person that made Victor think of it was dressed up like a night full of stars, not the sun. The sun was someone Victor easily could have forced aside.

“We saw you and wanted to say hello,” Patrick said, leaning into Victor’s space. Yuri had thrown one arm over Patrick’s shoulders. Victor was trying very hard not to think about what that arm would feel like over  _ his  _ shoulders, and that hand on other parts of him.

People were pressed around them, suddenly, most likely wanting Yuri or Patrick or both to themselves.

“I think you have some people who want something from you,” he said, tilting his head pointedly at the crush of people around them. 

Patrick sighed. Victor’s heart stopped beating as Yuri reached forward, to the drink out of Victor’s hand, and took a quick drink from it. He smirked at Victor as he gave it back and if Victor hadn’t known better, he would have said that Yuri knew about the desire twisting its way through Victor’s body, knew and was saying ‘I know you want me, but I’ll never let that happen.’

Again, Victor looked away. Yuri and Patrick slid off to deal with potential customers. Theia left with a gentle press of her hand to his shoulder and a quick “bye, Victor.” He finished his drink, trying hard not to think about how Yuri’s lips had been on it only moments ago. When he was done, he found a pretty, faceless girl with flowers tangled in her hair like some lost maiden of spring. He paid her handsomely and let her try to distract him until the end of the night, but he couldn’t help his eyes from searching out Yuri’s glimmering top in vain.

He was relieved when it was time to go home, when the cool night air curled itself around him, reminding him of who he was. He didn’t look up at the stars. He couldn’t bear too. His dreams that night were feverish, and he tossed and turned. In the morning, it felt as if he had barely closed his eyes at all. And when his phone started to buzz with texts from Theia, asking him if he was coming to meet Maria, he flicked it onto silent, knowing that Yuri would be there, and not wanting to see his friend so soon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's StS2! Yay! Maria was going to be here and then Victor and Yuri were just "we need to have a dramatic moment." and she got nudged out :( :( :( 
> 
> But I'm writing a short piece today because I have nothing better to do that will (likely) be going on the tumblr (unless Muse recs otherwise) that's Yuri POV the day after StS2 hanging out with our favorite opera-singing mama. There also may be more shorts of her later on with Maria that I'll write as I post because I miss our girl and...yeah. 
> 
> As for Zarya, I'm going to try and look for the screencap, but if I recall correctly that there's a brief moment in the show where Victor is at a competition and talking to a short-haired brunette in the background. That's who I modeled into Zarya, because I did the math and Mila is...waaaaaay to young to be going out with Georgi when everyone's been aged down like they are here. 
> 
> Also...Muse proposed an Excellent Idea for a fic while we were at Hahkey last night and I may write it, but it's going to break from my policy for literally everything that I've written for this site before, so...yeah. If your curious, I'll share, but otherwise I'll see y'all in the comments.


	7. Chapter 7

The next weekend, Phichit left for Cup of China. Victor silently suffered through the extent of the weekend, sans the buffer he had come to cherish in the last week between Yuri and him. Not that he needed the buffer, of course. Not really. There was nothing between Yuri and him. At all. No feelings, whatsoever, just an awkward attraction on Victor’s part that would surely wear away the more he saw Yuri gross and sweating after practice. And besides, even if there was anything between the two of them, Yuri was with Patrick. So it didn’t matter what Victor thought (or felt)—not that he thought (or felt) anything—at all. Yuri would never look at him twice. Yuri was happy. Yuri had spent the first several months of knowing Victor actively avoiding Victor. If he knew what nonexistent, deeply hypothetical things Victor might have thought (or felt) he’d probably be deeply upset. So Victor was better off staying away from Yuri. Which he didn’t need Phichit to help him with. At all. Because—

“Victor.”

It took a great deal of effort on Victor’s part not to shriek at the sudden interruption to his thoughts. He did, however, jump. As he turned around, he tried to give Jill, another coach at the club who had promised Celestino that she’d keep an eye on his skaters while he was gone, a winning, casual smile; he had hoped desperately that the coach hadn’t noticed that he hadn’t been doing anything. From the way the woman quirked her eyebrows though, it seemed she had.

Victor held onto that smile until his cheeks started aching.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Are you…okay?” Jill asked.

Victor nodded enthusiastically. “Of course. Perfectly fine.”

“Are you sure?” Jill asked.

“Yes,” Victor said firmly.

“You’ve been staring at Yuri for fifteen minutes,” Jill said.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“I was watching his step sequence,” Victor said, trying his best to appear innocent. “He does them so well, after all.”

“Yuri’s been practicing his quad loops for the past half an hour.”

“I was waiting to see if he would change it up,” Victor replied hastily. “He does that sometimes too, you know.”

Jill did not look convinced. Victor changed the topic before she could continue to press the issue.

“Is there anything specific you wanted to talk to me about?” Victor asked, “about my skating? Because otherwise, I was going to get back to practicing.”

And now, her face lit up. “Yes, actually. As you know, Yuri is going to Trophée Éric Bompard next week. Celestino told me you helped him with some jumps during Skate America; I was wondering if you’d work with him again before he left. Since you’ve been watching him, surely you can see how much he’s been struggling.”

She pronounced it so it rhymed with ‘gurgling,’ and his mind caught on it, as always, but for once, Victor didn’t want to laugh, didn’t want to think about Jill’s little quirkiness. Instead, he did his best to maintain his smile despite the horror brewing within his heart. Talk to Yuri. Help Yuri with his jumps. Look…look at and watch Yuri intentionally. It was one thing—

No. This wasn’t going to be a problem because Victor did not think (or feel) anything but…decent, platonic, pure thoughts about his rink mate. At all. Ever. Especially not when he was alone in his bed at night or getting to watch Yuri strut his incredibly annoying bone structure that could in no way be construed as “perfect” and not at all cute sloppy hair, no glasses look out on the ice during practice. Victor didn’t think about these things. At all. Ever. Because they were not appropriate things for friends to think about friends who were in committed relationships, and Victor was nothing if not deeply appropriate regarding the things he thought (or felt) and even the things he would never think (or feel) regarding his friends. At all times. Always.

“Victor?” Jill asked.

“That’d be great! I’d love to help him!” Victor said.

He wondered, from the strange look Jill shot him, if perhaps he had sounded a tad too enthusiastic.

(But of course friends were enthusiastic to help each other. And that was all he and Yuri were. Friends.)

She called Yuri over and explained what he wanted Victor to help Yuri with after ensuring that Yuri was okay with getting Victor’s help. Yuri seemed hesitantly thrilled. He even smiled shyly to Victor when Jill told him what she had in mind. 

Victor quietly died inside, but he was certain that had nothing to do with Yuri and everything to do with the fact that his own practice time was being directed away from things he needed to focus on.

(Not that he needed to focus on anything his routines were picture perfect.)

They spent the rest of practice working together and Victor maintained a running internal commentary about how definitely unattractive Yuri looked in his sweaty workout clothes. The way his shirt clung to his torso was disgusting! And those powerful thighs…too big to be alluring, for sure.  

After practice, Victor took a cold shower. He had read somewhere that cold water was good for muscles after working out, which was the only reason he opted out of the tempting hot water. Also, he reminded himself, the hot water at the rink was rare. Better not to try for it and be disappointed.

Yuri, much to his delight, certainly not dismay, was scrolling through his phone and waiting for Victor when he came out of the shower. The other man had changed into street clothes—jeans, his usual tennis shoes, a dorky-but-endearing plain black shirt that had a sketch of planets and “I need my space” written in it in block letters under open his winter coat. When he saw Victor, he slid his phone smoothly into his pocket.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Victor grumbled, tromping over to his locker.

Yuri flushed. “I wanted to,” he said quietly. “It would have felt weird heading back alone.”

Victor didn’t say anything, just grabbed what he needed out of his locker and slammed it shut. He marched stubbornly out of the locker room, Yuri trailing behind. He wished Yurio could be here, at least, but Celestino put a limit on the number of days that the younger skaters were allowed to practice, and today was one of Yurio’s off days.

“Thank you,” Yuri said as they left through the main doors of the rink, “for helping me today. I know you probably had better things to be doing, but I really appreciate it.”

Did he have to be so insufferably  _ polite _ too?

“I’m really hoping to make it to the Grand Prix Finals this year,” Yuri added quietly, as if he were afraid that by voicing that ambition, he wouldn’t achieve it.

Victor’s heart only softened out of sympathy for a friend. Nothing more.

“You’ll make it,” he said gently.

The way Yuri’s face lit up at the encouragement was not at all attractive, even if Victor’s heartbeat sped up a little at the sight of it.

“You really think so?” Yuri asked.

“I do,” Victor said. “You work hard, and you’re a good skater when you don’t let your anxiety get the better of you. You have it in you to make it there. Now it’s just a matter of showing the rest of the world that.”

Yuri was definitely not glowing at the praise. And Victor definitely would not have found it sweet if he was.  

“Thank you,” Yuri said softly.

Victor couldn’t help the private smile that slid across his lips.

OOO

It was a relief when Phichit returned for regular practice on Tuesday and an even greater relief when Yuri left for Bordeaux that Thursday. Victor had helped Yuri with his jumps—especially those Yuri had planned for his weaker short program—as well as he could before Yuri left. Now all Victor and the rest of them could do was hope that Yuri would be brave enough to do what they all knew he was capable of doing. Yuri had the ability to land himself a placement high enough to earn himself a place with the top six skaters at the finals. All he lacked was the confidence. Victor hoped more than anything else, as painful as hoping was, that Yuri would. Even if he didn’t allow himself to think about how long that meant that he and Yuri would be left awkwardly, absurdly alone together.

He also didn’t stop to consider the other qualifying competitions too much. There were others after this of course, Rostelecom and the NHK Trophy, and they had to be completed before anything could be said with any certainty. Yet, Victor knew that if Yuri could place high enough on the podium, preferably first, Yuri’s place at the finals, as far as Victor was concerned, would be practically assured. Anything lower than that would be pushing it, but Yuri could do it. His programs were stronger now than they had been at Skate America. He would do it. Not just “could,” but “would.”

Still, this prediction was one that Victor hesitated to voice to the others. He had a feeling that Yuri would be upset with him if Victor shared his thoughts and then Yuri failed to perform to their expectations. Victor knew that he had the potential to be great. That would have to be enough. That, and the small matter of realizing that potential himself, and proving it beyond a question of a doubt to the rest of the world.

Friday afternoon Theia and Patrick skipped classes. Phichit and Yurio called in sick to school. They ordered sandwiches from a place they all liked in campustown and crowded into Patrick’s living room to watch Yuri skate on Patrick’s second-hand TV. Victor had briefly considered offering up his own apartment for the viewing. It was larger after all and despite the fact that he had long since been folded into the Friday night movie selection rotation, no one had ever mentioned anything about going to his place, and none of them, besides Yurio, had ever been. But this, watching Yuri at Patrick’s, felt right to Victor somehow. Patrick was Yuri’s boyfriend, and as a result, Yuri’s number one supporter. Watching Yuri skate at Patrick’s felt lucky, and Victor wanted to give Yuri every bit of luck that they could offer him.

Yuri was later in the order of skaters, but they watched the others civilly. There was only one that Victor knew, Christophe Giacometti, a Swiss skater whom Victor had met years ago, but Phichit had heard of another, a Michele Crispino, from Italy, and those were the two routines the group paid the most attention to.

Michele performed admirably for his young age, but Victor could tell from the moment he started that whatever he did wouldn’t be nearly enough to get him to the finals. Chris though…Chris’ program was fantastic, easily one of the best that Victor had ever seen him do. Still, as Victor watched him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that despite the fact that Chris had a year or two on Yuri, Yuri was a better skater and that Yuri would have a better program. Or at least, he hoped so anyways. When Chris’ score was announced, it wasn’t anything groundbreaking, but it still gave him a sizable lead that he held as the skaters between he and Yuri took to the ice and gave their routines.

“Oh, he’s so handsome!” Theia squealed when the camera finally flashed to Yuri, waiting on the edge of the ice.

“Shut up; my boyfriend always looks handsome,” Patrick teased.

Yurio, from his place at the small dinner table, scowled. Phichit, sitting in the armchair behind Victor, shushed them all.

Victor, settled in front of them on the floor where no one could see his face, allowed himself a small smile as a Yuri was given the go ahead and he took to the ice. Patrick was right of course, even if it made Victor’s heart stutter to admit it; Yuri  _ always _ looked handsome. Now though, as he settled on the center of the ice, as he began skating, Victor thought that “handsome” couldn’t cover how Yuri looked. Breathtaking. Beautiful. Resplendent. Untouchable in his star-blessed glory. He was a masterpiece that Victor wanted to watch forever, not just during the brief interval of his short program.

A blush threatened to creep up Victor’s neck as he thought these things, but what use was it to deny them? It was a harmless crush—Victor, watching Yuri now as he skated, was finally able to admit the truth of his thoughts these past few weeks to himself. (Brilliantly, that’s how Yuri was skating,  _ brilliantly.) _ Now just able to admit that to himself, but bold enough to make that confession. Yuri was attractive. Victor had thought that since the moment Yuri had swept into that locker room—and Victor’s life—like a whirlwind on that summer afternoon.

What was the harm in admitting he felt that attraction? He’d only felt strange and things had only been uncomfortably awkward between the two of them over the past weeks as he had tried to deny it. It was a harmless crush, and Victor wasn’t a fool. It wasn’t going to get anywhere, not when Yuri was in such a committed relationship with Patrick, not when their every interaction belied the love between them, so what did Victor have to worry about?

Nothing, Victor told himself firmly, as Yuri executed a perfect axel. Absolutely nothing.

Yuri went on with his program and Victor dragged himself out of his thoughts to watch more carefully. Yuri could do this. He could knock Chris out of first and then tomorrow it would just be a manner of keeping that lead or at least not allowing the pressure to get to him enough to ruin his own skating. Yuri could do this.

Patrick asked a question about the program which Phichit fielded easily. Victor kept his eyes glued to the screen as Yuri entered his final set of spins.

A whirlwind. Yuri moved like a whirlwind. He was skating now like a whirlwind and he had come into Victor’s life like a whirlwind. Swept Victor off his feet like a whirlwind too, though Victor couldn’t find it in himself to care that Yuri had. He was almost glad of it, actually. Glad that he had a rink mate and true friend who meant so much to him. When all was said and done, knowing Yuri, caring for him, would probably shape Victor into a better person. Softly, like the ocean changes stones. Softly, Yuri would change him with his humility and stuttering uncertainty that was overruled in the most beautiful, rare moments by his roaring bravery. Yuri was kind, and good, and gentle.

As they watched the screen and waited for Yuri’s score to come in, Victor reflected that there were far worse people to have a crush on, and Victor supposed that made him a very lucky person. 

Everyone erupted into cheers when Yuri’s score at last flashed on the screen. Victor laughed a little to himself in joy, but his eyes immediately flew to Yuri. The score was indeed as Victor had hoped, or known, he supposed, since he had seen Yuri land that first jump, and it was enough to vault him over Chris’ score. Just barely, but still.

Yuri was now in first.

Yuri himself looked shell-shocked to have received the news. He wasn’t wearing his glasses (of course not, Victor had learned at Skate America that Yuri wouldn’t put those on until seeing the crowd as one faceless blur was no longer a viable option), so Celestino had leaned over and whispered it in Yuri’s ear after it had boomed out of the loudspeaker. Victor suppressed a chuckle as Yuri leaned forward, squinting as he tried to see the score for himself, like if he didn’t believe that it could possibly be true, like if  _ that  _ score could never be  _ his. _

“Believe it, Yuri,” Victor whispered to a man who sat an ocean away. “Believe it because it’s true.”

“That’s my boyfriend!” Patrick shouted for what Victor imagined was at least the third time. “That’s my—”

He cut off abruptly and Victor glanced back to see if it was Phichit or Theia who had whacked him to shut him up, but it turned out, as Victor took in the scene that had been playing out behind them, that both of them were too shocked—as shocked as Yuri at leas—to do anything to Patrick.

Patrick, who was standing alone in front of his place on the loveseat, knuckles pressed to his lips, tears shining in his eyes, and Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried not to cry.

“That’s my boyfriend,” Patrick whispered to himself.

He looked so  _ proud.  _ Victor’s heart sang to know that he wasn’t the only one who understood, on some shared, deeper level it seemed, what this would mean for Yuri. And even as the singing stung, Victor’s heart sang to know that this was the man who Yuri would come home to at the end of the weekend, this man who loved and supported Yuri so fiercely when Victor could only bear to do it softly.

None of the other skaters came close to touching Yuri’s score for the rest of the night. One scored just under Chris by a point or so, but that was it. As the afternoon wore on, they all debated calling Yuri, putting the phone on speaker, and showering him with their praise, but in the end they talked themselves out of it. They didn’t want to make him nervous with the pressure of the pride and love and unspoken expectations, so calling Yuri was a task they left solely to Patrick. He promised that he would send Yuri all their love, and that was it. The afternoon was over. Yuri was in the lead and it was time to go on with life as usual.

As Victor filed out of the apartment after Theia and Phichit with a slightly less-grumpy-than-usual Yurio in tow, he couldn’t help but think, however, that he was so happy in that moment that he could fly. Yuri’s success made him feel light and bubbly inside, and it was only the first day of the competition. He hoped beyond hope that the feeling would only grow as the weekend wore on.

OOO

Only a few hours later, Theia called and asked him, forced calm lacing every word, if he had seen the news. Heart pounding, Victor flicked on the TV and turned to the appointed channel. If something had happened to Yuri, Victor had no doubt that she’d be more frantic, but there was no escaping the alarm that had still slipped into her voice. All of the air rushed out of Victor in one breath as he read the headline along the bottom of the screen. His ears were ringing. Whatever the news anchor was saying became a meaningless babble of words in the background as Victor watched the stock footage and tried to wrap his mind around what he was seeing.

Paris had been attacked.

OOO

Victor didn’t remember putting on his shoes or grabbing his keys or leaving his apartment. One minute, he was on the phone with Theia. The next, he was on the street. Heading…he didn’t know where he was heading. He just knew he needed to go  _ somewhere. _

Logically, he knew that Yuri was fine. Yuri was in Bordeaux. He was far away from Paris, safe in a completely different region of the country. Yuri was safe, even if so many others right now were not, had not been fortunate when a distant danger came knocking. But Yuri was safe. That, at least, was something Victor was grateful for, as guilty as it made him feel. The fate of the competition itself, though Victor could hardly bring himself to care, was unclear. France was in a state of emergency. The world had far more important things to care about than a skating competition. Still, what Victor cared about most of all was how Yuri must feel now, in the midst of this crisis and the aftermath of his skate.

If Victor had to guess, he would have said that Yuri probably thought the world was spinning far too quickly, that everything was moving far too quickly. Knowing that he wasn’t the one to do it, knowing that he wasn’t the one Yuri  _ wanted  _ to do it, Victor hoped that someone helped Yuri slow down the too quick world sooner rather than later. Yuri deserved to be happy right now, not worried about things beyond his control.

Victor’s feet carried him to the rink without him directing them to take him there, but he wasn’t surprised that of all place, this was where he had subconsciously chosen to come. His mother had been a deeply religious woman, once. He could still remember her dragging him to stuffy services where he had struggled to sit still through droning sermons and not scratch at the pinched and itchy formal clothes she always made him wear. After her death, his father had never made him go back and Victor had been quietly, terribly, thankful. Thankful because his religion, his faith, had always been the hiss of his skates against the ice, the rushing freedom of a perfect jump, the satisfying sense of control he felt even in the most dizzying of spin. Of course he would come here now. Of course he would come here when the world felt unbalanced and he was left with useless, directionless worry.

He would skate. That was how he prayed.

The ice was empty this early in the evening and he paid the price to rent it out for himself gladly. He didn’t want distractions. He just wanted it to be him and the ice and the pitiful pleas he could offer to the universe to make everything right once more. Right for Yuri, for Paris, for all of those who felt as he did now.

He started out with his programs for this season, then did the programs from the season before that and before that and before that until he had wound up at the small beginning of his career, back to a time before people called him a living legend or wrote articles detailing his rise to fame and predicting what would one day become of him. He felt good in that space. Small. Insignificant in the best of ways. He had stopped to rest as often as he needed to in that race back to the start, but just because he had gone through every routine he knew didn’t mean he was tired now. No, he wasn’t nearly tired enough, not tired in the way he wanted to be, not in the way that touched his soul.

So he looked up Yuri’s routines. There were fewer of them, but Victor watched them all and memorized them all and took to the ice and skated them all. He didn’t have music, but he could hear every note echoing through his mind with every scape of his skates that echoed through the arena. It was late when he finally decided to give in to the exhaustion hounding his body and go home. He had offered up everything that he had to give. Even if he logically knew that his skating all those routines made no difference, his heart still hoped that some sort of difference had been made.

He looked up at the stars, just coming out, as he walked home and found them. They were merely faint silver pinpricks in an over-illuminated night sky, but the comforted Victor, somehow. A poem, short but pointed, shot through his mind and he let it fill him up.

_ I offer up everything that I am _ __   
_ (Everything Everything Everything) _ __   
_ In a futile but hopeful attempt _ _   
_ __ To ease the ills that plague this land.

Short, but beautiful. It summed up everything that Victor was feeling. He had nothing to give, not really, besides what he considered to be a kind and open heart, some broken stanzas he wrote when sentences stopped making sense and a fierce talent for skating, but he gave it all, he offered it up as night settled in to whatever force determined the fate of the universe. He could only hope that it would mean something. He had to believe in his heart that it did.

OOO

The attacks did not delay Yuri’s arrival home, which was something Victor and the rest of their little group were incredibly thankful for. Victor had poured out his soul on the ice Friday night. He didn’t know what he would have done if he had been given more to worry about. Driven himself and all the other skaters crazy, most likely. As it was, the rest of the competition was cancelled. The short program scores stood in for the final results. Yuri had won.

Still, as Victor waited with the others at the arrivals gate at the airport, he wondered if Yuri would see it as a victory at all, and he wondered if this missed chance for Yuri to prove himself would make him question his potential more, instead of being reassured by his partial success.

Patrick didn’t bother with a sign this time and Victor wondered if it was because of the same worry that caused Patrick to shift endlessly from foot to foot as they waited or if it was because he, who understood Yuri so well, was thinking along the same lines as Victor when it came to Yuri’s unexpected success.

Victor had barely glimpsed Yuri’s dark head of hair peeping above the crowd when Patrick took off, clearly desperate to hold his boyfriend in his arms and know for certain that he was safe. Theia and Victor glanced at each other, understanding passing between them, before they went to trail slowly after Patrick. When they reached the couple, Patrick was clinging to Yuri in the same way that a drowning man clings to a life preserver. Yuri’s hold on Patrick, while far less desperate, was just as fierce, just as tight. His backpack sat forgotten on the floor next to them. Suddenly needing something to do, Victor picked it up and stepped to the side with Theia. The airport was crowded with other emotional reunions, but somehow, standing too close to Yuri and Patrick felt like an intrusion on a private moment. Even from a short distance away, Victor could hear Yuri murmuring “I’m fine,” in Patrick’s ear. He looked away. He and Theia shouldn’t have come. They should have let Patrick come alone.

After a few minutes, Patrick pulled away from Yuri with a great sniff. By no means, however, did Patrick let go. He looped one arm through Yuri’s and rested his head on Yuri’s shoulder. It seemed almost as if Patrick were afraid of letting go, as if he were afraid that if he did, the truth of Yuri’s safety would vanish like dust in the wind. Victor and Theia followed silently behind them. A poem formed in Victor’s mind and he set it aside to be reviewed later.

Yuri was fine, had never been anything  _ but _ fine. Still Victor listened as he continued to murmur a soft stream of reassurance into Patrick’s forehead. He pressed a kiss there occasionally as well, as if knowing that sometimes, words could never say enough. Little by little, Patrick’s shoulders relaxed and for the first time, ridiculously, it occurred to Victor how much of a mess Patrick must have been these past few days. Victor had been able to find some relief in skating. What had Patrick done? Sat in his little apartment and fretted? Played the guitar that Victor had seen propped up in the corner from time to time until his fingers had bled?

The rode home carefully spaced out in Theia’s mom mobile. No one said anything to each other besides Yuri and Patrick, who spoke quietly enough that Victor would have had to strain his ears to listen to them. He let them be, though, let them have their peace. Instead, he watched the changing landscape out his window. Theia drove, carefully checking her speed so she never once went over the limit. They all agreed, somehow, not to turn on the radio and fill the space around them with bouncing pop tunes. It was by the same silent agreement that when they returned once more to familiar streets, Theia didn’t drop them each off at their apartments, but pulled up in front of Colonel’s.

Donald took one look at them when they walked through his door and disappeared immediately into the kitchen. He appeared a few minutes later with their regular orders and the biggest basket of macbites Victor had ever seen him prepare. He deposited it all in front of them with a gentle “on the house” before they all dug in. Their thanks, Victor felt, was evident in the fervor with which they ate. Donald didn’t bother them at all until they had walked out the door.

OOO

Victor lay in his bed, safely wrapped in his comforter and blankets and traced over the words of the poem he’d written down earlier in his notebook.

_ Love, not desire not _ __   
_ something darker, baser _ __   
_ holding us together _ __   
__   
_ The storm whips the waves _ __   
_ whips them till they’re crowned with white _ __   
_ but I hold onto you _ __   
_ while the waves crash in _ __   
_ I hold onto you _ __   
_ as the waves crash overhead _ __   
_ I love you _ __   
_ as we sink and fade _ _   
_ __ I love you until the very end.

He knew who it was for and who it was about. He could still see Yuri’s arm draped over Patrick’s shoulders as they walked through the airport that afternoon. They loved each other so deeply. Would anyone ever love Victor like that? Would anyone ever worry as fiercely as Patrick worried about Yuri? Would anyone reassure him when he felt unmoored in the gentle way that Yuri had reassured Patrick today?

When a tear splattered against the page, smearing the ink, Victor closed up the notebook and set it beneath the lamp on his bedside table, but he hesitated and couldn’t quite bring himself to pull the chain and turned the small light off. He could almost feel the tattoo on his shoulder mocking him. What good was a soulmate if he never met them? What good was it to know there was someone out there that was meant to love him in that way if he was never given the opportunity to love them in return? He felt lonely, and hollow and betrayed, somehow, by the mechanics of the universe. Somehow, he found the strength to turn out the light and rolled back over. Outside his windows, the November wind howled wickedly, and Victor curled his arms around himself and tried to imagine that it was someone else who was holding him, someone who loved him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, my life is a poorly managed mess (literally just bought a book I need for a class later today this morning #college). 
> 
> I will be getting the extra up and responding to comments and all of that taken care of at some point during this week, but I just don't know when. So, please bear with me as I do my best not to die during the second week of classes and enjoy the update everyone!


	8. Chapter 8

It felt surreal to leave for Russia a few days after Yuri’s return. Surreal, but…a necessary break, Victor thought. The two of them hadn’t really talked since Yuri’s return, although Victor had kept a protective eye on him during practice and helped his friend with jumps, spins, anything really, whenever Victor saw him struggling. For his part, Yuri accepted Victor’s aid and instruction just as humbly as ever, but victor could see the frustration rolling in Yuri’s eyes, his frustration over a victory that Victor knew he felt had not been properly earned.

And, even if Victor was frustrated in his own way with Yuri’s inability to celebrate that victory and the talent that had allowed him to earn it, Victor understood. He knew that it was more than likely that he would have felt the same way, had he been in Yuri’s position. They were both fighters, artists. Success that came easily was not a true success at all.

Moscow, as Victor watched it pass by outside of the window of the taxi he had taken from the airport, was the same as ever. The fact that it was so unchanged felt wrong to Victor, somehow, as irrational as the thought was. It _should_ be changed. He had left; _he_ had changed, even in the few short months that he had been away. But still, that was all just fanciful thinking on Victor’s part. A misplaced belief that he mattered more than he did, that his actions could shape and change the movement of the universe.

That was another frustration that Victor had been struggling with over the past few days, although he covered it up with bright smiles and cheerful laughter whenever he was around his friends. In the grand scheme of things, what did he _matter_? He was a poet and a skater and while some hailed him as a legend, he wasn’t a great hero fit for the epics he had studied, that had once been sung in the halls of kings.  He wasn’t any more special or important than anyone else. In the end, he would disappear from their hearts and minds with little fuss, like if he had never been there at all. The world would be no better or worse for it. It would just go on spinning along among the stars as it always did.

He put those thoughts aside when he met Zarya and Georgi and Zarya’s little sister, Mila, in the hotel lobby all the competitors were staying at with tight hugs and a warm welcome. While he loved all the friends he had made in Detroit deeply, there was no replacing this, no replacing the people who had known him since he had first come under Yakov’s tutelage all those years ago. Zarya and Georgi had been his first friends at that rink, the first skaters whom he had seen who had the same fierce determination and hunger for success blazing in their eyes to match his own. That fire, more than anything else, was what had held the three of them together over the years, even when all the other skaters their age had given up, or found different clubs.

They went out for dinner together that night to a place the Zarya and Georgi had found since moving here. None of their old haunts, not yet. Victor didn’t know whether to be sorry or grateful for the change of pace and the evidence that their life had gone on without him. But the food that the kitchens sent out was excellent—the authenticity he had been missing in all his favorite childhood dishes. It was a strange blessing to speak in his mother tongue too, and to hear it babbled around him and a chorus of unfamiliar voices.

It wasn’t Petersburg, not home entirely, but it was everything that he had secretly been aching for in the last few months. He was back in Russia, back in his beloved home country. Still, a wave of homesickness washed over him. He was back in Russia, but only for a weekend, and then he would have to go back to the pathetic neighborhood he now called his home. He would have to go back without seeing Petersburg. More than anything else, in that moment, he wanted to go walking in familiar parks with Makkachin, get breakfast at his favorite café, go biking by the river, practice on his home ice and have Yakov grumble at him when he got distracted.

“Victor?” Zarya asked, glancing at him.

She had always been able to read his moods so well. Zarya, one of his oldest and dearest friends. Zarya, who had been there when his mother had died. Zarya, who had stuck with him through everything.

“I’m fine,” he said, but he stood from the little table they’d commandeered at the corner café they had found wandering around the city after dinner. “Just tired,” he said. “Jet lag, you know?”

She nodded, but he could tell from the look in her eyes that she didn’t believe him, not really.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked.

She took his hand and gave it a tight squeeze.

“Tomorrow,” she confirmed.

She didn’t press him, or rise to give him a hug, or command that he take care of himself. She did not do any of the things that sweet, motherly Theia would have done.

He didn’t realize that he wished she had until he was almost back to the hotel lobby, and by then, it didn’t matter.

OOO

He stayed up late that night, even though he knew he probably shouldn’t, even though he hadn’t been entirely lying when he told Zarya that he was tired from traveling and jet lag. But there were poems and line breaks and stanzas poking holes in his skin and running circles in his head and he couldn’t sleep until they too had been put to bed.

He wrote about Russia and what was like to be almost home, home for a weekend, home but not really. He wrote about his friends back in Detroit and the family he had found there. He wrote about Zarya and Mila and Georgi and the family had had left behind here. Zarya and Georgi, and how they had grown up, raging with an unending fire that allowed them to be the best skaters the ice had ever seen. He wrote about how his friends hadn’t changed in the time they’d been apart, but he had. He wrote about Yakov. He wrote about all the things the old man had taught him about love and life when no one else was around to do so. He wrote about his father, and his mother, and what it had been like to grow up in the no-man’s land that had grown between them in the years before her death. He wrote about all the things that had driven him to the ice and the dreams he had found there.

He wrote about the stars, which he hadn’t seen himself until he had left his home.

He wrote about Yuri.

He wrote poems and poems about Yuri.

And when he had no more words rushing to get out of him, he set his notebook aside and flicked out the light. Still though, it was a long while before sleep found him, and he spent the time until then staring out the window and wishing he could see the stars.

OOO

The weekend flew by. Victor came out triumphant. So did Zarya, in the women’s division. Georgi took third, but he didn’t seem to mind too terribly. None of that was remarkable, though. In fact, nothing remarkable happened at all. Theia did call him the first night, once he had finished his short program, to let him know how proud of him everyone was. Evidentially, they’d had another viewing party, this time at Yuri and Phichit’s. They were all looking forward to seeing him win gold, etcetera, etcetera.

To Victor’s secret delight, Theia did check on how he was doing and how it felt to be home but not quite. He told her the truth, about all of it. He honestly answered every one of her questions. There was something disarmingly comforting about talking to Theia on the phone in a dark and empty hotel room that allowed him to make confessions he normally would have kept to himself. Theia, of course, listened to it all with that quiet understanding of hers, letting him rant and ramble when necessary, but offering her guidance whenever he needed it, too. He felt better after talking to her, like if the world wasn’t actually as empty and impersonal as it had seemed.

Now, striding through the Moscow streets with Zarya and Georgi besides him, riding high on his most recent victory, he did his best to hold on tight to the warmth and comfort Theia had filled him with. They found a club, one they had frequented before in similar circumstances and that Zanya and Georgi frequented more often now, and popped inside. The music inside was crushing, and bodies were packed together. The floor was sticky with spilled booze and the smell of sweat and alcohol filled the air. An ocean and practically a whole continent away from Theia and Yuri and Patrick’s beloved Backbeat, but not too different, all things considered. Maybe a little smaller, but that was it.

They paid the cover and slipped onto the dance floor. Victor lost himself to the music. It had always been easy for him to do. He had been born with rhythm and music pulsing in his chest right next to his heart. He started when someone’s hand, featherlight, touched on his shoulder to get his attention. Pulling himself out of the pool of music he’d been swimming in, he blinked at the man in front of him.

The crowd of voices was just a dull roar behind him, but the music stood out crystal clear, clearer even than it had been when he was dancing.

And there was a man, the most beautiful man he had ever seen in his life, standing in front of him. Lovely tan skin and dark hair that curled around his temples. Maroon shirt clung to his pecs and hugged his sides. Skinny jeans so dark they might have been black. And…confidence, daring, in the set of his shoulders. Hunger in his eyes like Victor had never seen before. The man who had tapped his shoulder.

Victor’s heart dropped out, but the man smiled and it was a twisted thing that promised dark corners and tangled sheets.

Victor’s heart stuttered again.

“Séraphin,” the man said by way of introduction. “Want to dance?”

A French accent curled around his words, and Victor had always been a sucker for pretty men with prettier accents.

He shoved the image of the dark haired beauty with blue half frame glasses and a different accent from his mind. This… Séraphin was exactly what Victor needed. A pretty distraction, the cherry topping to this weekend.

Victor jerked his chin in greeting.

“Victor,” he said smoothly.

Séraphin flashed another smile. “I know,” he said. “Everyone knows who you are, Victor.”

Victor narrowed his eyes, though he didn’t reject the praise. Was this man another skater? It seemed likely, especially with that accent. Victor struggled to wrack his memory for what the other skaters had looked like, and what their names had been.

Séraphin chuckled, as if he guessed what Victor was doing.

“Men’s singles,” he said. “I took fourth.”

Again, Victor nodded. Séraphin reached out a curious hand, wrapped it around Victor’s side, tugged him closer. He kept his eyes glued to Victor’s, waiting for an objection, but Victor swallowed down his uneven breathing and stepped closer. They were close enough to kiss now, and Victor debated doing it, closing the distance between them and pressing his lips to Séraphin’s. He deserved this. He deserved someone who looked at him and saw _only_ him. Someone who actually wanted him. And then…then they were kissing. Victor didn’t know who initiated it, but Séraphin’s mouth was on his and his tongue was chasing around Séraphin’s.

His arms will still up in the air, still half dancing. They started to come down though with that kiss.

Séraphin pulled away after a few minutes. He fiddled with the hem of Victor’s shirt, and he cast his eyes down so he could watch Victor through his lashes. He bit his lip in a false pretense of shyness.

“Do you want to stay here?” Séraphin asked. “Or…or we could go somewhere else, if you want.”

Such a bold offer, from someone he had met less than two minutes ago, for someone who he had kissed just once barely fifteen seconds ago.

But Victor wanted bold; he wanted daring. He wanted to forget about other people who made his heart ache with loneliness. He kissed Séraphin again.

“What did you have in mind?” he murmured.

OOO

The kept pressing kisses to each others lips, cheeks, temples, hands, wrists all the way back to the hotel. And spare bit of skin they could find on each other, they kissed, and they roamed their hands as freely as they could without scandalizing any of the passersby. Victor’s useless mind wrote and destroyed a million different poems, most revolving around thoughts of lips and teeth and tongues and skin. Maybe he’d try to piece them together later. After this. After he got his release. When he was on his way home, maybe.

Séraphin led Victor back to his hotel room, not that Victor really paid attention to where that was. The two of them almost lost it on the elevator, Séraphin’s hands far enough up and under Victor’s shirt that it almost came off, and alone in the elevator, Victor let his hands wander more freely too. They barely paused long enough to breathe as they kissed.

He hadn’t slept with anyone since he had come to Detroit. He’d had plenty of offers on nights  he’d been free and had followed Yuri, Patrick, and Theia to the Backbeat, but he had always turned them down, happier to stay with his friends and dance the night away. Something had to be different about tonight if he was ready to tumble into bed with Séraphin after just one kiss. It was the victory, he decided. The sweet taste of gold that was making him restless. Nothing more.

He didn’t even realize it when they left the elevator to stumble down the hall. The click of the lock and the door slamming open were background distractions to the stream of broken lines and exaggerated sensations running through his mind. His shirt came off, then Séraphin’s. the kicked off their shoes and tugged off their socks with their toes as Séraphin slammed him against the wall.

He’d barely had anything to drink, but Victor was getting drunk on these kisses, and he reveled in it, reveled in losing himself in it.

They had almost made it to the bed when Séraphin reached for the button on Victor’s pants and Victor just…stopped. The tumbling thoughts in his head went still. A single line, that’s all that was left.

_I have loved you since the moment I saw you_

A line about a whirlwind, Victor knew, but not this one.

He stepped away, pulled Séraphin’s hands off of him. The Frenchman watched him, a confusion painted in his eyes and the way he tilted his head.

“I can’t do this,” Victor breathed, as surprised to make the confession as Séraphin was to hear it, he was sure.

Séraphin’s eyes raked up him and Victor knew what he was thinking, even if he didn’t say it. _Really? Didn’t seem like it two seconds ago._

Yes, really. He felt sick to his stomach all of a sudden.

_I have loved you since the moment I saw you_

He knew who it was about and he pushed it down as he picked up his shirt and tugged it on, forced his bare feet into his shoes. He stuffed his socks into his pocket.

“It was nice to meet you, Séraphin,” Victor murmured as he cracked open the door, even if it really hadn't been.

He didn’t wait around long enough to hear the reply.

OOO

He finished the poem later than night, tucked away on the last page of his notebook where he couldn’t find it unless he went looking for it. He didn’t want to think about what it implied. He knew…he knew it could never happen. So it would be better if he never even entertained it as a possibility. He felt miserable and sick to his stomach too. He wondered if he was coming down with something. Probably. Hopefully, even if he needed to be in peak condition for the Finals in a few weeks.

He felt no better the next day, and he knew his exhibition skate at the gala lacked emotion because of it. Zarya said it had, anyways. He didn’t know what to tell her by way of explanation though, so he shrugged it off. He let her assume he was down because he had to go back to Detroit.

Somehow, it didn’t feel entirely like a lie. Going back to Detroit was equally the most relieving and horrifying thing to happen to him all weekend.

He didn’t allow himself to consider why.

OOO

_I have loved you since the moment I saw you_   
_Bursting into my life like a lost wildfire_   
_Moth to the flame, you drew me in closer,_   
_Dancing and flickering with some dark desire_  
  
_Darling, I’m yours, yours for the taking_  
 _But you’ll always seek solace in the arms of another_  
 _And I’ll stay out here, alone in the cold_  
 _Hoping and waiting to catch heat from your fire_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late today! My life is ~slightly~ more organised, but not by much. 
> 
> Victor has feelings! More than just a crush! ~~If he's ever willing to admit it, that is.~~
> 
> ~~Also Serphin high key just showed up while I was writing this and was just "Salut! Je suis venu faire la fête et je vous ai gâché votre histoire!"~~
> 
>   ~~God, what an asshole. I regret creating him~~
> 
> Maria extra is up! (Finally, I know). The link to that is [here](https://batmads-ao3.tumblr.com/post/170620129856/maria-extra) (with an awesome mean girls reference at the end). I'll let you know as I throw in more extras on the old blog as I write them because otherwise I may just fall apart this semester.


	9. Chapter 9

Something that had been roiling in Victor’s heart all weekend calmed the moment he saw Theia. Not Yuri, whose own, unintentional role in Victor’s weekend was something that Victor refused to consider, or any of the other friends he hadn’t realized he had missed so dearly, but steady, reliable Theia. If he told her what happened, he knew that she would help him sort through it. He knew that she wouldn’t judge him, or be upset, or gossip with the others. Theia was a friend he could rely on. Not Zarya, who divulged everyone’s secrets like if they were no more than cheap trinkets, or Georgi, who was often so caught up in his own drama that he forgot about his friends. Neither of them had even realized it when he had left the club with a stranger the other night. That was another thing Victor was trying hard not to think about.

“What’s up?” Theia asked as he approached the group of them.

He shrugged. Theia was someone he could talk to, but for now, what he would need to talk to her about…it wasn’t something he was ready to face.

“I missed you all,” he said.

Theia laughed and looped her arm through his. Phichit fell into step beside him. Yurio stomped ahead in a way that told Victor that Yurio was pleased that Victor was home, but upset that he felt pleased, which was almost enough to make Victor chuckle to himself. Yuri and Patrick, predictably, fell into step and quiet conversation behind them.

“Are you excited to go to Barcelona?” Phichit asked.

When Victor nodded, Phichit smiled. He still had the NHK Trophy coming up this weekend, but his score at Cup at China hadn’t been great, and even if he did extraordinarily this time around, his chances weren’t promising.

“I wish I could go,” Phichit said. “I hear they have a great shopping district, and I’ve always wanted to see Spain and I imagine the food is great and I bet the nightlife is _spectacular—”_

“Let’s not be getting too far ahead of ourselves,” Theia chided him gently. “If you were going, you’d be going to skate. And as it is, not going has brought you some extra time to study for that math final, which I know has been giving you trouble, even if you say it hasn’t.”

Such. A. Mother. Victor couldn’t help the smile that slipped out at Theia’s tone.

“How did you end up being everyone’s mother?” Victor muttered to her, voicing the thought.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I think…I’ve just always fretted over my friends, and they all let me. What’s even funnier is that Yuri and Patrick are basically the dads of the group. Before you and Yurio came along,”

Victor raised his eyes in surprise. “I don’t think I understand,” he said.

“Well, Yuri and I parent slash bully Patrick into doing things and Patrick and I do the same for Yuri, and then all three of us do it to Phichit. More than that though, the two of them are just such stereotypical _dads._ Have you heard some of the jokes Patrick makes? And Yuri has that panicky ‘ahhhh, ask your mother’ vibe going a lot when people ask him for help.”

He chuckled and Theia did too. They talked some more as they walked, about Russia and what Victor was looking forward to with the Finals. They all had the week off from school for Thanksgiving. Victor and Yurio had been invited to go to a dinner-slash-lunch at Patrick’s Grandpa’s that he put on every year for the group. Theia wasn’t going to be there--her family lived nearby, afterall, and Maria would be home too for the holiday, but everyone else who was still home was going to be.

A family. That’s what he had been folded into here. He had been friends with Georgi and Zanya and even Mila to a certain extent back home, but they had never been anything more than that. They were all the same, really. Their individual ambitions had brought them together, but it had never brought them any closer. They had all always been too focused on themselves and where their lives were going to think too deeply about the others. He had been lonely before, he realized suddenly. So very, very lonely. And now, coming back to Theia and Patrick and Yuri and Phichit wasn’t just a return to his new ice and his apartment, but it was…coming home.  

They all piled into Theia’s borrowed Mom Mobile and went to Colonel’s for a late lunch/early dinner. Donald talked about traveling out to see his daughter in Toledo for Thanksgiving. Phichit and Patrick talked about school and classes and what they were going to do with their break. Theia presided over all of them making sure everyone got a chance to talk and no one took too much food. Even Yurio was coaxed out of his shell, and grumbled something about a pen pal he’d been given in his English class.

Yuri, Victor couldn’t help but note, stayed quiet, eyes scanning across the faces of his friends, head tilted towards each of them as they talked, listening intently to everything they had to say. Patrick would mutter something in Yuri’s ear every now and then and Yuri would blush, then smile at his boyfriend and murmur a response. The whisper of a line filled Victor’s mind, but he set it aside. He didn’t want to think about poems right now; he just wanted to be able to soak in this moment at peace with his family.

OOO

Patrick picked them up on Thursday afternoon in his truck and Victor and Yurio squeezed into the little space that remained in the cab next to him and Yuri. For his part, Victor was careful to sit next to the window, with Yurio situated between Yuri and him. Perhaps before Rostelecom, he wouldn’t have minded being pressed up besides Yuri as much, but now…well, things had changed, and it was a long drive too. He spent most of it with his forehead against the window, the cold of the glass keeping him calm as he hovered somewhere next to sleep. The others chit-chatted a little, Yuri even dragged Yurio into conversation here and there, but Victor kept out of it. Theia’s absence and Yuri’s presence left him in a strange mood, and he didn’t have the energy to try and fake his way past it.

Eventually, they came to the quiet streets of Patrick’s home neighborhood. It was relatively quiet, especially on the holiday, and characteristic of middle class suburbia. The first time Victor had been here, he had been too caught up in Yuri and his victory to notice it too much. But now, he marked it all.  The tiny house that sweet and well cared for. The hint of the park he could see at one end of the street, and the open playing fields of the high school at the other. The trees lining the block were crowned in red and cold, and there were more leaves scattered in the yards of neighboring houses and on the sidewalk. The first beautiful thought that he had had all day came to him, and he let it fill him up.

_In America, dreams march proudly_   
_Upright down sidewalks in front of_   
_Rows of neat little houses_   
_On and on and on._   
_Marching towards some distant horizon,_   
_Some unknown tomorrow,_   
_With only the hope that someday,_   
_Things will be better._

He held onto that thought as he followed Patrick and Yuri up the brick path in front of the house to the doorway. Patrick opened it and went inside without waiting to knock and while they all kicked off their shoes in the front hall, Patrick wandered deeper into the house, calling for his grandpa. Yuri took their coats and put them on the rack besides the door and then went after his boyfriend, but Victor and Yurio lingered, uncertain about how to move about a stranger’s house that they had been explicitly welcomed into and guided around.

“I like it here,” Yurio said quietly.

Victor glanced down at his friend in surprise, but Yurio glared back, as if daring Victor to question what he had just said.

“Why?” Victor asked before he could stop himself.

“It feels like a home,” Yurio said stubbornly.

Victor nodded in appreciation. He had thought the same the first time he came here, and he still did, to a certain extent, but he also felt strange, and as though his skin wasn’t well sized for the thoughts inside his mind and the feelings in his heart.

“Come on,” he said, starting to head deeper into the house, towards the sound of clanging pops and Patrick’s good natured conversation.

When the reached the kitchen, it was already in a bustle. Patrick’s grandpa and Yuri danced around each other as they got the dinner together. Patrick himself had been left watching a pot and he waved when he saw them. Out of some feeling of self-preservation, Victor just waved limply back from where he had stood by the door.

“Stick to the walls,” Patrick advised, shouting across the chaos to him.

Yuri shot his boyfriend a disparaging look.

“Here, Victor, come around this way. You’ll get in the way if you listen to Patrick,” Yuri said, glancing over at where Victor and Yurio stood quickly before turning back to the dish in front of him.

Victor hesitated for a moment, then scrambled down the path that Yuri had indicated. He didn’t look back, but he imagined that Yurio was close behind him. Patrick chuckled when they finally reached him.

“Survived the obstacle course, did you?” he asked.

Victor snorted. “It’s really something, huh?”

“Oh, yes,” Patrick said very seriously. “The Event of the Year, as far as Yuri and Gramps are concerned.”

“I didn’t know Yuri could cook,” Victor said, glancing over at where his friend was working.

“He’s excellent at it,” Patrick said. “I can manage, but Yuri reigns supreme. If you’ll lucky, one day you’ll get to try his katsudon. That shit changes lives.”

“Nice,” Victor said.

Patrick shrugged, and then, in that peculiar way of his, started chuckling until it turned into full-blown laughter. He looked at Victor, tears in his eyes and grinning, and Victor gave him a small smile back. Then, to Victor’s surprise, Patrick pulled him into a tight hug.

“How are you doing, Victor?” He asked. “You were unusually quiet on the way here, and I know we just sort of…abandoned you and Yurio in the front hall.

Victor shrugged when Patrick released him.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Last weekend felt…weird, being home but not, seeing everyone I used to hang out and knowing that even though things are the same, they’re different now, and I am too. And now, all of this. I’ve always known what Thanksgiving is, but it’s weird to actually…experience it.”

Patrick nodded in appreciation and glanced back down at his pot, which looked like it was filled with gravy. Victor stayed silent as he waited for Patrick to gather his thoughts. Besides him, Yurio looked distinctly unimpressed with all the hoopla. But in the middle of all of it, Victor found some warmth filling him back up again. Just a little, but there. Family. This was time to come together as a family, and with the people he had just come to see as his family.

“I know what you mean,” Patrick said finally. “I go home every now and then—Chicago home, not here home—and I see all the guys I used to run with and my old friends and everything, and it’s like, we’re still friends, we’ll always be friends, but our lives have taken these two very different projections and at the end of the day a lot of the time it feels like there’s really no bridging that.”

“Patrick! Gravy!” His grandpa shouted at him.

“It’s fine,” Patrick grumbled, scowling to rival Yurio.

“I burned the yams on accident once two years ago and they still haven’t forgiven me,” he said, leaning over to whisper to Victor. “I’ve been stuck on gravy duty ever since.”

Victor chuckled. “That must have been something to see.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Patrick said, smile tugging at his lips. “Besides, it was Yuri’s fault anyways. He started kissing me. I lost track of time.”

“Liar!” Yuri shouted from across the kitchen.

Patrick and Victor howled with laughter at that. Yuri flicked them off over his shoulder, which only set them off again. That warmth inside Victor’s heart was growing, little by little, but it filled him with a heaviness too, and a realization that, for the majority of his life, he had been missing out on this closeness, this family.

“Aren’t they worried you’ll mess up the gravy?” Victor asked, at  
last glancing down at the pot.

“Don’t put thoughts in their heads!” Patrick hissed. “Don’t let them take away the one job I’m allowed to do, Victor!”

Victor laughed softly to himself, thinking of his own poor cooking skills, and it wasn’t long before the shy smile Patrick gave him in response turned into a chuckle of his own and the two of them were laughing again. It was enough for Yuri to glance over at them, concern etched on his face.

“What are you three up to now?” He demanded. “The gravy’s not burning, is it? Oh, god, it is, isn’t it? Patrick!”

“I have done nothing wrong!” Patrick objected. “Ever! In My life!”

Yuri shot him a look that promised that that statement was the opposite of true, and then glanced down at Yurio.

“Do you know how to cook? Because I could use your help if you want to abandon those jokers,” he asked the boy.

“Please,” Yurio hissed, scurrying to Yuri’s side.

In seconds, Yuri had him hard at work. Patrick and Victor had been left to their own devices and their little pot of gravy once more.

“Funny how he immediately asks Yurio instead of you,” Patrick said.

Victor shrugged. If Yuri didn’t want to get close with him, that was fine. Victor wasn’t fully over what happened at Rostelecom, and even if he was feeling a little better, he still wanted to keep his distance from the other man.

“Probably for the best,” Victor said. “Besides, hanging out here with you is more fun.”

Patrick beamed at that and the snippet of a poem filled Victor’s mind.

_A friendship built on_   
_Close calls and trust falls_   
_A cause we’d_   
_Bleed ourselves dry for_

It was strange; he had Patrick had always been friendly, and Patrick had often been more inclined to talk to him than Yuri had, but before today, Victor wasn’t certain that he truly would have called Patrick a friend. Now though, with Patrick cheering him up, even if it was unintentional, even if Patrick didn’t know everything that had been weighing on Victor’s heart these past few weeks, it was clear that something had changed between them. It was a nice change, Victor thought, and with a pang, he realized he now felt closer to Patrick than he did even with Zarya, and Georgi, people he had known since he was a child. A little bit of empty cold pressed back in on his heart, but then Patrick made another joke and Victor was brought back to the warmth of the kitchen and the love that surrounded him.

Eventually, Yuri padded over to investigate what they had been getting up too, and to check on the state of his gravy, but Patrick grabbed his boyfriend’s wrist and pulled Yuri into a quick kiss before he could check the pot.

“Ye of little faith,” Patrick murmured in his lips.

Victor glanced away, feeling as if he was imposing on their private moment. Yuri’s reply that this was _exactly_ how the yams had gotten burned before though was enough to set Patrick and Victor laughing once more, and keep the loneliness that had been haunting Victor at bay.

OOO

Eventually, Yuri outright kicked Victor and Patrick out of the kitchen and directed them to go set the table. Yurio was relegated to gravy duty, with the side comment that he wasn’t as likely to mess it up. Victor and Patrick continued to chat a little as they set the table. Victor, having forgotten, ask Patrick about what he was studying and Patrick was happy to elaborate. Talking, Victor found, was a good way to dawdle in the dining room. Not that he minded being in the kitchen, but it was crowded, and, well, it was easier avoiding Yuri out here.

“So what do you want to do with a degree in kinesiology?” Victor asked.

“I have no idea,” Patrick admitted cheerfully. “I just thought it was a cool subject, what with running and all.”

“Right,” Victor said.

He had no idea what Patrick meant about running, but as it was he was more concerned that Patrick was three years into his study and still had no concrete idea of what he was going to do next. But then, when Victor had been in school, he had never really cared to think about the future either. He had always just assumed it would work itself out.

“Yeah, it drives Yuri nuts that I don’t know, but” Patrick paused to shrug. “For a really long part of my life, it was like it the future was something that I just…wouldn’t have to worry about. Not because I would figure it out as it happened, but because…I don’t know. It just felt ‘not applicable,’ you dig?”

“Kind of,” Victor said.

He adjusted a fork so it laid more perpendicularly to the edge of the table. Patrick was folding napkins at the head of the table. After his mother had died, he had been made to go to grief counselling. There had been a lot of days that had just felt…empty. Heavy. Like he was just existing instead of living. The future had seemed pretty “not applicable” at that time. He hadn’t been able to conceive the idea that there would be no more trips to Paris, no more morning walks around the Seine, no more mother waiting for him with treats when he came home from school.

A thoughtful silence pressed between them and Victor glanced up at Patrick and smiled. Patrick smiled back, but it wasn’t his usual broad grin; it was something softer, more thoughtful.

“To be honest,” Patrick said, “some days it just feels like I’m playing catch-up with everyone else, but all I really want to do it keep running and stay with Yuri. I don’t know where our relationship will go, I don’t know if either of us will ever meet our soulmate and things will change, but I know that for now I want to stay with him, and that’s enough.”

“Sometimes, enough is enough,” Victor said, and Patrick’s smile widened to something brighter at the thought.

“Exactly,” Patrick said.

At that moment, Yuri, Patrick’s Grandpa, and Yurio marched in carrying trays and bowls full of food. It really was a feast, Victor supposed as he watched them pile it all onto the table. And all of it—Victor didn’t think he had seen food that looked this good in a while. With a start, he realized how hungry he was. He struggled to remember the last time he had _wanted_ to eat as badly as he did right now, looking over the spread set out before him.

“We really outdid ourselves this year, Seamus,” Yuri muttered, thoughts clearly along the same track as Victor’s.

It took Victor to a second to realize who Seamus was, and then he kicked himself mentally. He could vaguely remember being formally introduced to Patrick’s Grandpa the first time they had met, but he had immediately forgotten the old man’s name, and it hadn’t come up again since.

“Well,” Seamus said, Irish brogue coloring his words, “don’t let it get cold. Let’s get started.”

As one, they took their seats. Seamus took the head of the table, Patrick to his right, Yurio on the left. With a strange feeling in his stomach, Victor realized that he and Yuri would be sitting across from each other at the end of the table. It was a feeling that only got worse as everyone started joining hands, Yuri reaching his across the table to Victor with a blank look on his face. Somehow, Victor found it within himself to take it, and somehow, he pushed the thoughts of what it felt like to hold Yuri’s hand, even at the thanksgiving table, out of his mind.

“Do you want to start, Gramps?” Patrick asked. “And we can end with Yurio?”

“We go around the table saying what we’re thankful for every year,” Yuri whispered to Victor.

Victor just nodded numbly. He was definitely not thinking about how soft Yuri’s hands were.

“I’m thankful for my grandson,” Seamus said warmly, smiling at his grandson. He looked at the rest of the assembled company with a twinkle in his eyes. “And I’m grateful for all of you, who bring him such joy.”

Patrick blushed a little, but continued the tradition. “I’m thankful for all of you,” he said. “You make life worth living.”

There was a brief pause while Seamus patted Patrick’s hand and Yuri leaned over to kiss his boyfriend’s cheek, and then it was Yuri’s turn.

“I’m thankful for my friends, my family, and my coach who all support me so much,” he said.

Victor allowed himself a small smile before everyone turned to him.

“I’m thankful for the family I’ve found here,” he said. “Thank you for welcoming me into your lives.”

Everyone smiled at his words. Seamus nodded his approval. Victor was filled with a warmth that reminded him of walking through the Petersburg streets with his mother, and he stopped thinking about just holding Yuri’s hand, but being connected to all of them, everyone at this table. They were here for him. They cared about him. Whatever…whatever difficulty he had in his life right now, he could get through it, so long as he held onto these people around him, and Phichit and Theia, as well, even if they weren’t here tonight. He squeezed Yurio and Yuri’s hands quickly, as if that gesture alone could convey his thoughts.

“I’m thankful for my grandpa,” Yurio grumbled. He glared at all of them as he spoke, as if to dare them to object, or worse, to laugh.

“I’m sure he’s very thankful for you too,” Seamus said quietly.

Murmurs of agreement came from everyone else seated at the table. Seamus lifted up his glass for a toast.

“To the things that bring us joy,” he said.

They all echoed the sentiment back to him and clinked glasses with each other before they drank. With all of that out of the way, then, plates and platters started to be passed around. Someone dumped a large serving of mashed potatoes and then stuffing onto Victor’s plate and then he was reaching for the yams (thankfully unburnt) and green beans and turkey, as it was handed to him. He didn’t stop until his plate was full, and even then, he eyed some of the dishes he hadn’t been able to sample with the intention of a second course. He didn’t think about the upcoming finals as he dug in; it felt almost wrong to do so, when all of this good food was sitting on the table and he was sharing a meal with friends who were more than friends.

Everything, as expected, was wonderful too. He didn’t think he would be able to make room for dessert, but then Seamus brought out an apple pie that he had somehow managed to make earlier and set candles into a birthday cake. It was the later that made Victor pause, if only because it was unexpected. Somehow, in getting to know his new family, it had never occurred to him to ask about their birthdays.

Now, he wished he had.

Would he look foolish if he didn’t have a present?

But no, Yurio wouldn’t have one either. And Theia hadn’t given anyone anything before she left.

If it was really a problem, he could always say he left it at home, and then get something over the weekend, right?

The birthday cake, it quickly turned out, was for Patrick, whose birthday fell on Thanksgiving every few years. Only Yuri and Seamus had presents for him, which was a relief. Yuri got Patrick a few CDs for bands he liked. Seamus’ gift was just a box full of running gear, which Patrick tore into like if he had died and gone to heaven. They sang happy birthday together and Victor allowed himself a thin slice of cake and another of pie before he proclaimed that he was full. Yurio, the growing boy that he was, dug in like there was no tomorrow.

Yuri just had a scoop of ice cream, although he and Patrick did start getting very snuggly with each other after Patrick opened up his CD’s. Victor tried not to look over at them too often.

After everyone had finished eating and all the plates had been cleared and rinsed and set in the dishwasher, after leftovers had been boxed up among all of them (Seamus insisting that he didn’t need any for himself), and after the kitchen had been cleaned up, they retreated once more to the living room for a few rounds of Apples to Apples. Patrick and Yuri played together, but then Patrick fell asleep in Yuri’s lap and Yuri was left to fend for himself. Victor at one point glanced over at them and the sight of Yuri carefully studying the cards in one hand even while the other twisted through Patrick’s short hair was captured in his mind forever. Even if the sight made Victor’s heart squeeze, he had to admit to himself that it was sweet, and that they really were sweet together.

Not long after Patrick passed out, Yurio, curled up in Seamus’ armchair, nodded off between rounds too, and then Yuri was rubbing at his eyes behind his glasses and Victor could feel his eyes getting heavier. Seamus surveyed them all with a slight smile.

“I think it’s about time you kids were heading home,” he said gently.

Yuri chuckled. “I think you might be right.”

He shook Patrick gently awake and then they all gathered up their stuff and headed out the door. Seamus gave them each a warm hug before they left. He paused though, to talk to Yurio for a few minutes out of earshot. Whatever he was saying, Yurio listened intently, and nodded a few times in answer to whatever Seamus had asked or demanded of him. And then…and then they all piled into the truck. Patrick drove, despite his previous nap. Yuri pressed in next to him to navigate. Yurio fell asleep on Victor’s should almost as soon as Patrick started backing out of the narrow driveway.

Seamus stood in his little front porch and waved as they headed off down the street. Victor waved back, and tried to keep his eyes open for as long as he could. There was something beautiful about all the stars streaking by in the night sky. He almost wanted to open up his window, let the crisp fall air push its way through his hair and reach out and try and touch them himself. He felt better than he had on the ride down here. Tired still, but in a different, undefinable way. For as long as he could, Victor fixed his eyes on the stars, but somewhere before they returned home…Victor fell asleep too, temple pressed to the window as he watched the night sky stream by.


	10. Chapter 10

The Grand Prix Finals swept up faster than Victor expected them to, even though he had known they would be soon and even though he had been keeping close track of the days. Strange, how easy it was for him to lose track of time now and again. He had been in Detroit since August, he realized, as Ciao Ciao checked them all into the hotel. _August._ He was already halfway through the skating season. Everyone else would be finishing their first semester of school soon. Besides him, Yuri was fiddling with the fidget toy that Victor had brought him for his birthday. It was a small gesture, but after noticing the way Yuri’s hands had a tendency to flutter when he was nervous, Victor had thought it might be helpful. He was pleased to see that he had been correct.

“This is your first Final, isn’t it?” Victor asked, leaning over.

Yuri glanced back at him, eyes wide with terror, or possibly just overwhelmed from the tense anticipation that filled the air, but he gulped and nodded.

“I…I always wanted to come,” Yuri said. “Make it this far, but…but it was always one of those things that, I don’t know…you picture it happening so many times that I guess…I don’t know. I guess you stop believing that it’s something that can actually happen...you know it starts feeling more like a dream than a reality.”

He stumbled over his words, not quite gaining the momentum today to force them all out in a rush like he usually did when he was overwhelmed with anxiety but still needed to say something. Victor didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

He prayed that it was a good thing.

“Victor!”

He half-turned at the sound of someone calling his name and there, striding towards him and Yuri across the lobby, was Chris. His bright smile matched his shining blue eyes and golden hair and though Yuri started twisting with the links of his tangle toy more furiously than before, everything about Chris was relaxed as he approached them.

“It’s good to see you,” Chris said when he reached them. His eyes flicked briefly to Yuri and he smiled “ _Both_ of you.”

Victor could have sworn that Yuri whimpered.

“How have you been, Chris?” Victor asked lightly. He needed Yuri to relax; he was worried about what it would do to Yuri mentally if he had an anxiety attack before he had even set foot on the ice.

“Oh, fine,” Chris said, shrugging lightly. “Better, since I caught sight of that pretty face across the lobby.”

Victor laughed easily. Chris was a shameless flirt, and while he and Victor had come close to being…something “more” over the years, they had agreed, somewhere along the way that they were better off as just being friends. Chris was also one of the only people Victor had ever found the strength to tell about the constellation tattoo on his back shoulder. He had searched just as hopefully as Victor had over the years to find its twin.

“I was talking about him,” Chris said, nodding his head towards Yuri, who looked more than a little bit horrified to find himself the object of Chris’ attention.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the Trophée,” Chris said, giving Yuri his best lover’s smile. “Don’t think for a moment though that it’s going to stop me from beating you here. We may have missed our opportunity before, but I won’t let that slide now.”

Victor resisted the urge to let his jaw drop to the floor. As it was, he was certain he felt as horrified as Yuri did and there was a strange feeling in his chest. His heart was pounding. He thought he might be shaking. He had the sudden near irresistible urge to grab Chris and physically push him away from Yuri.

“I have a boyfriend,” Yuri stuttered.

Chris’ eyebrows shot up. “I wasn’t aware,” he said, “but if you’re content to be with only him…I won’t impose.”

The something tight that had been squeezing Victor’s heart eased a little, but not enough. He wanted to rush to Yuri’s defense, to further shut down Chris’ advances, but there was really nothing more to say. ‘I have a boyfriend’ was a very effective counter-argument. Not to mention, Yuri probably didn’t need or want Victor defending his relationship.

“Are you soulmates?” Chris asked.

At that, Yuri went very, very still.

“No,” he said softly.

There was a deadly edge to Yuri’s voice that Victor had never heard before, like if he was daring Chris to challenge the fact that he was in a committed relationship with someone who wasn’t his soulmate. But Chris just shrugged again.

“He must make you very happy,” Chris said.

Yuri flushed. “He does,” he whispered.

Victor glanced away. Chris must have caught the action, because suddenly his attention was fixed on Victor.

“And what about you, Victor?” Chris asked. “We’ve hardly talked since you moved. Have you found anyone special yet? Your soulmate wander into your life yet? I’ve kept an eye out, but haven’t seen anybody with something to match that special little tattoo of yours.”

“Not yet,” Victor said, trying to fill his voice with cheer, no matter how false it was.

He did feel guilty for not telling Chris about everything he’d been up to since he’d started his new life in Detroit, but he couldn’t bring himself to discuss his soulmate—and the general lack of any new relationships he had—with Chris in front of Yuri.

“Well, hold out hope, my friend,” Chris said. “I’m sure you’ll find them eventually.”

Victor hummed in agreement even as his eyes flicked to Yuri. Even if the other man was happily taken and even if Victor had dreamed his entire life of what it would be like to meet and fall in love with his soulmate, for now, at least, he was content to nurse a crush on his friend, even if it would never be reciprocated. He had yet to meet anyone who could convince him to leave his silent commitment to Yuri behind, and as much as he looked forward to that day, he would no longer rush towards it.

“In the meantime,” Chris continued, “we all have the competition to think of.”

Yuri’s anxiety visibly increased. Victor almost sagged with relief at the sight of Ciao Ciao returning to them with their room keys in hand. He didn’t know how much longer Yuri would last before completely losing it.

“I’m sure we’ll all do wonderfully,” Victor said. “Now if you’ll excuse us, it seems our coach has our keys. See you later, Chris!” Victor said, giving a little wave.

He grabbed Yuri by the arm of his coat and dragged the other man after him to meet their coach. Yuri, thankfully, offered up no resistance. He snagged the keys from Ciao Ciao’s hand with a swift ‘thank you’ and then continued onto the elevator. As the only member of the Detroit family here with Yuri, Victor felt a certain sense of obligation to make sure that all of Yuri’s needs were met. Victor was fine; he had been her what felt like a million times before and by now it was just a continuation of the same old routine. But Yuri…Yuri would need support and someone who would look after his needs when Yuri got too anxious to remember. It was a simple enough task, really, and one Victor would carry out for their rest of their friends.

“I’m sorry about Chris,” Victor said once they were in the elevator. “He can be, well, he can be a little much sometimes.” He laughed, a little nervously, trying to get a good gauge on Yuri’s reaction.

“It’s fine,” Yuri said softly. His fingers had stopped twisting the tangle with the desperation with which they had in the lobby, but Yuri didn’t stop turning the links through his fingers. “I—mostly I’m just worried I’ll let everybody down,” he said quietly.

“Yuri,” Victor said gently, “as your friend, I don’t think it’s possible for you to let any of us down.”

Yuri looked up at him, eyes bright like the stars he so dearly loved, and Victor continued, warmth filling his heart.

“We all know how hard you worked to get here and we all know what you can do and nothing, _nothing,_ will ever change how happy and proud of you we are for getting this far.”

“What if I lose?” Yuri whispered. “Not just—” he paused to swallow. “Not just come in third, or barely miss the podium and come in fourth, but _lose_?” he asked.

Victor shrugged. “Then you’re still one of the six best skaters in the world,” he said. “That’s not a title to take lightly, you know.”

The furrow that had formed between Yuri’s brows as he voiced his fears to Victor eased as he thought it over. His hands around the tangle stilled and Yuri glanced down before sliding it into his pocket. He glanced up at Victor with a small smile.

“Thank you,” he said as the elevator doors pinged open.

“After you,” was all Victor said in response.

OOO

Watching Yuri skate his short program the a few days later was a blessing. He was…God, he was gorgeous. He would probably not, Victor realized with sinking heart, make the podium though. He had skated well; he had gotten all the rotations in on his jumps, he hadn’t missed any, and although some of his landings had been rough, he had been able to stay with the music, which is what really mattered. Yuri’s artistry on the ice was breathtaking. The story he told, the images he painted with his body, it was unlike anything Victor had seen before. One day, if Yuri could be as confident in his own skating as everyone else was, if he could stop seeing his dreams as _only_ dreams, he would be the best skater the world has ever seen, possibly better than Victor, even.

Chris’ skate was fine. Very Chris. Artistic, masterful. Everything the crowd had come to expect from him. He would probably make the podium, something that made Victor happy and disappointed at the same time. Chris was a skilled skater, sure, but he hadn’t brought anything _new_ this season. He wasn’t something different, like Yuri was.

And that was why Victor knew as soon as it was his turn to go (last, he had won the most points in the qualifiers, so he would go last) that once again, he would top the podium. Every routine was a new beginning. A chance to take the elements the audience had seen a million times before and make them his own. Change them enough so that every performance was unique and different. No one would ever be able to top that skill. No one else had it in them, yet. He had the crowd in his hands with the first beat of the music and the first slide of his skates on the ice.

And, because he was Victor Nikiforov, living legend, he knew that the crowd would stay transfixed on him for the rest of the weekend. He knew that, ultimately, this was what set him apart from everyone else; this was what won him the gold every time.  

He went out with Chris and some of the other skaters afterwards. Yuri, in typical Yuri fashion, stayed in, but Victor did his best to lose himself in the easy friendship of others and the music of the club they’d wandered to. They chanted out the words of the songs they knew together as they danced; they embraced the exhilaration of being alive in this place in this moment. They were young and wild and free and it was the best feeling in the world.

Or, it would have been, a voice in the back of Victor’s head whispered, if Yuri was there. If Yuri would dance with Victor. If Yuri wasn’t with Patrick.

“Victor!” Chris said next to him, shouting into Victor’s ear to be heard over the music. “What’s gotten into you? Not having fun?”

“What?” Victor asked, turning to look at him.

“You stopped dancing!” Chris shouted. He swung his hips to emphasize his point.

Victor struggled to come up with a response. He hadn’t even realized he had stopped moving. He had been too caught up in his thoughts of Yuri, and the ache in his heart that said “this would be better if Yuri was here.” Unbidden, the thought rose to his mind of the night of StS2, and watching Yuri dance and how he hadn’t been able to look away, the way his heart had stopped beating for a moment when he had turned around and Yuri had suddenly just been…there.  There and not there. Not the Yuri that Victor had come to care for over the last few months.

He shook his head to clear himself of those thoughts before they could get any farther. It was best, Victor had determined, not to dwell too much on Yuri. It was enough that he had a crush. He didn’t need to spend all his time thinking about the other man too.

“I’m sorry,” Victor said, leaning forward to shout in Chris’ ear. “I got distracted.”

The look Chris gave him was incredulous. “With what?” he asked, glancing around, no doubt trying to determine who had been appealing enough to catch and hold the attention of the legendary Victor Nikiforov enough to make him to _forget dancing_.

“Thinking,” Victor clarified.

“About what?” Chris asked.

The singer crooned that he could make their hands clap over the throb of the remix and they both obliged.

“Nothing,” Victor said, shaking his head again. He wanted to go back to dancing, back to forgetting about anything besides this spectacular now.

Chris, however, wasn’t having it. “You’re not worried about the competition, are you?” he asked, laughing. “Victor—you have that in the bag. You could get on the ice tomorrow and do the Macarena and you’d probably _still_ win.”

He thought, almost, that there was something bitter in Chris’ voice as he made the comment. But he was too focused on keeping Chris from the truth to dwell on it for too long. Instead, he forced himself to laugh along, even if his heart wasn’t in it.

“Right,” he said.

“Don’t you worry, though,” Chris continued. “I’ll get you someday. Just you wait, Victor, and you’ll see. One of these days it’s going to be me at the top of the podium, and you looking up.”

He made himself laugh and nod along. He knew that Chris wasn’t entirely teasing, but…still. “I look forward to it,” he said.

He wasn’t committed to this conversation. If he was, he would have teased Chris back. They had a friendly rivalry going, after all. And as much as Victor would love to see his friend grace the top of the podium someday, Victor wasn’t a competitive skater purely for the love of the sport. No, he loved _winning_ just as much as he loved skating, and as much as he liked Chris, nothing would ever make him stop being competitive, stop wanting that gold medal like nothing else.

Chris, of course, realized this immediately. Victor mentally released a string of curses that would have curled the hair of even the most foul-mouthed sailor.

“You’re not worried about the competition,” Chris said.

“Of course not,” Victor replied lightly. He laughed, but it was tainted with anxiety. He didn’t want to talk about Yuri with Chris. Not that he thought that Chris would ever be able to guess that that’s what Victor was thinking about.

Chris frowned. “Then what were you thinking about?”

“I told you,” Victor said. “Nothing. Just how different things are now.”

Which, to be fair, wasn’t entirely a lie. Things were different now, now that Victor had met Yuri and a little voice followed him around every time he went out that reminded him that life was always at its most interesting when Yuri was around.

Chris’ frown just deepened. “Now…what, Victor? And different how?”

Another string of curses.

“Now that I’ve moved, of course,” Victor said, laughing. “And I don’t know how it’s different, Chris. It just _is_.”

Chris blinked. And then he narrowed his eyes. And there was a sinking feeling in Victor’s chest as he realized he had probably been caught. Chris grabbed his arm and Victor let himself be dragged off the dancefloor and into the bathroom. It was quieter in here, but still, the _smell_. The bass of the music still pounded through the door, and Victor was almost certain that two people were enjoying something other than the music in one of the stalls. Either that, or someone was having a very, very interesting bowel movement.

“Is this about a boy?” Chris asked.

Victor swallowed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, trying his best to be casual. He glanced pointedly at the stall emitting the noises he was sure they had noted earlier. “Now, if you’re honestly going to try to interrogate me in a seedy ‘restroom,’ I think I’m going to—”

“Oh no you don’t,” Chris hissed, grabbing Victor’s arm again and dragging him away from the door. “Who have you met? What are they like? Why haven’t you mentioned them?”

If Victor had stopped to consider what this evening was going to be like before he went out, he would not have pictured getting frisked down for the latest load of hot gossip—concerning _his non-existent love life_ —by Chris Giacometti in what had to be the most disgusting bathroom in the world.

In the stall behind him, the person in question either climaxed or managed to successfully pass their bowel movement. Their panting filled the silence between Victor and Chris.

“Are you serious?” Victor asked.

Chris didn’t even glance around them, like if there was absolutely nothing amiss about their setting, about this situation. “Absolutely,” he replied.

With a sigh, Victor started rubbing at his temples with his fingers. His ears were ringing from the loud music and he was tired. Even if they weren’t technically competing tomorrow, Victor suddenly wanted nothing more than to go back to the hotel and curl up to go to bed. The words “preferably with Yuri” filled his mind unbidden and he pushed them away quickly. Yuri was the reason why Victor was in this mess in the first place. He was determined not to think about the Japanese skater any longer.

“I haven’t met _anyone,_ ” Victor insisted. “There’s nothing to tell, Chris, really. You know I would say something if there was.”

Chris narrowed his eyes. Victor suppressed a groan. His friend always had been too discerning for his own good.

“This isn’t about Katsuki, is it?”

Victor’s heart dropped out. The poem he had written the night of the Séraphin almost-disaster whispered itself in his ear. A crash filled the air as one of the stall doors burst open. They both glanced away as the someone from the stall Victor had noticed earlier slipped out. Victor waited while they washed their hands, gave Victor and Chris a panicked glance, and then scuttled out of the bathroom.

“No!” Victor objected.

Chris gave him a pointed and disbelieving look. Victor continued to try and ignore the confession his heart had made to him several weeks ago. Another person stalked smoothly out of the stall. They didn’t bother to wash their hands, although they did stare at Victor and Chris curiously as they walked out.

“It’s not about him at all,” Victor said once the door had swung shut again.

“It’s not like you to find someone you want to protect, Victor,” Chris said, and his voice wasn’t accusatory, but gentle. Victor opened his mouth to protest further, but Chris just helped up a hand and continued.

“I saw the way you looked today in the lobby, like if you were watching over him. And the look on your face when I flirted with him—Victor, if you had seen yourself, you would understand.”

Victor shook his head. Poetry was a gut reaction. It hadn’t been what he really felt, just a stray, beautiful thought that had wandered his way into his mind.

“Yuri is in a committed relationship,” he said. His heart panged at the verbal admittance of that fact, but he forced himself to continue. “I wouldn’t interpose myself in that.”

“Oh my God,” Chris muttered. “Victor, do you love him?”

Victor blanched. “What? No, Chris, that’s ridiculous! Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

Chris just tutted. “Just because someone’s in a relationship doesn’t mean you can’t fall in love with them, Victor,” Chris said. “I thought you at least would know that. Love doesn’t know limitations, and you don’t get to pick and choose who you fall in love with. You just _love_ them.”

Victor shook his head. His heart had begun pounding out a hysterical rhythm in his chest. Words in the back of his mind matched each beat.

_I have loved you since the moment I saw you._

“Chris, you have this completely wrong,” he said.

The look that Chris gave him was filled with pity. “I don’t think I do, Victor. You’re just living in denial.”

“I’m not,” Victor insisted.

It was just a poem. It was just a poem. It was just a poem. He had convinced himself of that in the last week or so, after Thanksgiving, and he was going to stick to that belief now.

Chris tutted again and turned towards the door. “If you say so,” he replied.

“I do,” Victor said as Chris pulled open the door. Music washed over them.

The crowd pulsed and moved to the music beneath the flash of rainbow colored light beyond the door, but Victor had lost all interest in joining them. The two thoughts clashed in his mind. The poem, and Chris’ question.

_Do you love him?_

They each were ricocheting around his chest and his mind in the most sickening of ways. The bed waiting for him back at the hotel was sounding better and better with every passing second.

“I’m going to head back,” Victor told Chris, nodding his head towards the door.

Chris just nodded, eyes focused on an ice dancer that Victor had seen around a few times before.

“There’s nothing wrong with being in love, Victor,” Chris murmured so Victor could barely hear him over the music. “The only thing you have to gain by denying it is a life full of heartache.”

Victor glanced towards the ice dancer again. He was getting the feeling that Chris’ attention had flown from this conversation the moment he had seen the other man. But Victor wasn’t going to involved himself in all that; he only wished that Chris had been so derailed _before_ he had managed to drag Victor into that bathroom.

_Do you love him?_

Victor pushed the question to the side.

“Night, then,” he said as he started through the crowd.

He was pretty sure that Chris returned the sentiment, but it was hard to tell over the din of the music combined with the chattering roar of the crowd. The street, when Victor reached it, was blissfully quiet. His ears were still ringing though. He hailed a cab and gave the man the address of the hotel as he climbed in the backseat.

_Do you love him?_

The question chased him through the Barcelona streets and through the hotel hallways, once he returned. It was one thing to maybe entertain the question and the answer in just his thoughts, he realized. It was another to be asked point blank, even by a close friend. He was more certain this time, of the response.

Poems were just beautiful things, after all. How he had felt tonight when Chris had asked him—that was a definite answer.  

The line of a poem flashed through his mind— _Walking through the hotel hallways/(Each and every the same/Nothing different about them)_ —and he filed it away to consider for later. He was thinking about Yuri’s hands too, and the way they danced in front of him when he talked.

His mind was a shattered mirror that reflected back only snatches of poetry. The shards broke where the lines did.

As he slumped down his hallway, he considered knocking out on Yuri’s door. Why, he wasn’t sure; maybe out of the desperate hope that Yuri would be able to help piece his thoughts together. He wanted to pause so badly, in fact, that his feet slowed to a stop outside of Yuri’s door instead of his own, right next door. But what if his friend—which was _all_ Yuri was—was sleeping? If he was, Victor didn’t want to be the one who woke him. Yuri deserved his rest. Victor may not have been confident that Yuri would make the podium this year, but that didn’t mean he wanted to (potentially) ruin Yuri’s chances to skate his best at the free skate they both had coming up.

Instead, Victor made his feet move on until they had reached his door, made his hands unlock it, and then made himself go through the motions of going to bed. Chris’ words continued to haunt his every movement as he did so.

_Do you love him?_

Despite himself, Victor was suddenly very glad that he had forced himself to disregard the urge to knock on Yuri’s door. In love with Yuri? What a ridiculous notion. He had a crush; Victor was willing to admit that much, but _love?_ That was taking matters way too far; his response to Chris tonight proved the fact—and reminded him of why. Yuri, as he had told himself a million times, as he had told Chris tonight, was in a committed relationship, and despite what Chris had said earlier, that did make a difference. He wasn’t available to Victor’s affections, so therefore it was impossible (absolutely, totally, completely _impossible)_ for Victor to be in love with him.

He finished getting ready for bed and slid beneath the covers, but didn’t fall asleep right away. He felt too restless, unnerved by something he couldn’t put his finger on.

_I remember_  
_My restless youth, filled_  
_With too many nights where_  
_I was too jazzed to_  
_Slow my racing mind,_  
_Although my body ached  
_ _For the sweet reprieve of sleep_

He didn’t hesitate as he dialed Theia’s number and waited for the call to connect.

“I have a study group meeting in fifteen minutes, so unless this is an emergency, I’m going to need you to make this fast, babes,” served as her greeting when she answered. “Are you alright?” she continued. “Do you need anything?”

Victor opened his mouth to reply, still smiling at her clipped, matronly impatience, then paused. He didn’t have any pressing emotional needs. He wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t in trouble. There was no emergency. He had just needed to hear Theia’s voice and to know that when he called her, when he needed her help, she would be there. He wasn’t even certain anymore why he had called her in the first place. He didn’t even have anything to tell her, after all.

“Just wanted to check in,” he said after a second. “Everything’s going pretty well here, although I don’t know if Yuri will make the podium.”

Theia hummed in acknowledgment. “I saw. And I think he and Patrick might have talked about that earlier. He seemed a lot calmer than he normally is out on the ice, at least.”

“I might have reminded him that he has a family of friends back home that’s proud of him no matter how he places and that getting here, being one of the top six skaters in the world, is no small feat,” Victor said, smiling again.

Theia barked out a laugh. “Good. I’m glad you were able to get through to him; not even Patrick can do that sometimes.”

Victor’s heart swelled with pride at Theia’s praise. _He_ had helped Yuri. _He_ had been the one to ease Yuri’s anxiety. And Yuri was skating more easily because of it. Yuri was finally, finally beginning to acknowledge his skill and potential as a skater because of something that Victor had said to him. Victor had known that Yuri was thankful for the elevator pep-talk, but to have someone else acknowledge the effect of Victor’s words was nice, if, perhaps, a little selfish.

“Alright, I think people are getting here. Anything else you need to talk about?”

Victor considered it, pushed down the thought that immediately came to mind.

“No,” he said. “Nothing else to report.”

“Excellent,” Theia replied. “Good luck, Victor, although I’m sure you won’t need it! I’ll talk to you later.”

“Later,” he parroted back with a chuckle and then the line went dead as she hung up.

Victor lay there in the darkness, holding onto the sense of safety talking to Theia always filled him with. He had known since Rostelecom that he would need to talk to Theia eventually, but he had been putting it off, too afraid to confront the truth that lurked beneath the surface. He had come close tonight, he realized. That’s why had had called Theia in the first place, to see if he would be brave enough to finally take that step.

But there was no need to be brave. What he had thought was lurking beneath the surface, what he had thought he had felt—he had been wrong. There was nothing to confront besides what he already knew. It was as he had told Theia just now: nothing to report.

_Do you love him?_

No. No, Victor did not love Yuri. He cared for the other man deeply, perhaps, and he felt a certain sense of responsibility for Yuri’s well-being while they were here, but it wasn’t because Victor _loved_ him. Victor did all these things for Yuri, felt these things, because they were, first and foremost, rink mates and friends. As such, Victor wanted to see Yuri reach his full potential, nothing more. Certainly not _love_ , if it was. Chris had it all wrong, then. Victor did not love Yuri.

He was still smiling about how ridiculous the thought was as he fell asleep.

OOO

At practice the next day, Victor talked to Yuri only when Yuri talked to him. He ignored the pointed glances that Chris sent his was every time he caught Victor’s eye. Victor focused on skating. He pictured winning. He did not allow himself to dwell any further about the question Chris had posed in the bathroom the other night. When the other skaters asked him if he wanted to go out that evening, Victor turned them down. He ordered room service instead and went to bed early.

The next night, he added another gold medal to his collection.

Yuri missed the podium by a point, and though Victor’s heart ached for him, he didn’t do anything to try and make Yuri feel better.

_Do you love him?_

No. No he did not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that moment when you think you might feel something for someone else, but the moment someone else calls you out on it you just shut it all down? 
> 
> That's what happened to Victor. He got spooked by his own feelings. He was on the threshold and then bolted as soon as someone saw him hovering there. 
> 
> Being in love but not being sure if what you're feeling is love is a rough time fam. It's a rough, rough time.


	11. Chapter 11

The banquet ended far too soon in Victor’s opinion, but it was clear from the way that Yuri slipped out as soon as Ciao Ciao said he could that his friend disagreed. Victor didn’t let that stop him from having fun, though. He danced with Chris and a few of the other skaters that weekend in a big group on the dance floor. He chatted with Zarya, who seemed more excited about Mila’s newest gold medal than anything else. He spoke with officials when Celestino asked him to and thanked many, many people when they offered their congratulations on his most recent victory. Talking to people always left Victor feeling energized, more so even than a strong cup of coffee. He supposed that made him what his friends back home jokingly referred to as a “social hummingbird,” but he didn’t mind. People were so interesting! Especially when alcohol was added into the mix. 

It was precisely for that reason that Victor found himself knocking on Yuri’s door once the banquet finished. He and the others had decided to go drinking and dancing—the banquet had not been enough to satisfy their appetite for either, after all—and Victor felt ridiculously sad about all of them going out and having fun while Yuri was holed up in his room alone. He was the legendary Victor Nikiforov! He was the one responsible for Yuri! He was the one who helped Yuri when no one else could! And he just knew—just  _ knew _ —that Yuri needed to go dancing with them.

“Yuuuuuri,” Victor whined, pounding on his friend’s door again, “are you awake?”

Victor was just starting to call Yuri’s name again when the door flew open. Victor blinked at the double vision of Yuri standing before him and it went away. Victor beamed. Yuri frowned.

Yuri was also, Victor noted, very clearly in his pajamas, judging from the loose pair of sweatpants and the old white t-shirt he wore. None of this would do. Victor couldn’t have Yuri frowning at him. And Yuri couldn’t go out dancing in his  _ pajamas,  _ now could he?

“Victor?” Yuri asked. “Do you know what time it is?”

Victor did not know what time it was. Just that the banquet was over and he was taking Yuri out dancing.

“We’re going out!” Victor exclaimed.

Yuri’s frown deepened.

“What?” he asked.

“Dancing!” Victor clarified, throwing out his arms. The movement unbalanced him and he stumbled a bit. Stupid Victor! He was so clumsy tonight! No one would have ever been able to guess that he was the best figure skater in the world!

He giggled again. He was the best figure skater in the world. The concept amused him, although he couldn’t quite say why. Yuri just squinted at him.

“Are you drunk?” Yuri asked.

Well, that was a good question. Victor stopped giggling as he paused to consider it. Yuri had asked, so it was very important that he answer correctly. It had been a very long time since Victor been well and truly drunk. All things considered, he had a remarkable alcohol tolerance, and he usually knew how to pace himself so he never got any farther than perhaps being a little buzzed. But the banquet had been seemed so boring after Yuri had left and he had danced so much and he had just been so  _ thirsty. _

Victor was stunned to realize that he may, in fact, be drunk.

His realization must have shown on his face too because Yuri made a helpless noise and pulled Victor into his room, shutting the door behind them.

Well, this was an unexpected turn of events, though not one Victor hadn’t fantasized about before. He started undoing the buttons of his dress shirt the moment Yuri let go of him. If they were going to do this, Victor wanted his clothes out of the way now, not later. Yuri, Victor reflected, probably wanted that too, especially since his hands flew to Victor’s the moment he noticed what Victor was doing.

Alright. If Yuri wanted to be the one who took Victor’s clothes off, Victor wasn’t going to object.

Except, the problem was that Yuri  _ wasn’t  _ taking Victor’s clothes off. He was very carefully rebuttoning the buttons that Victor had undone.

“What are you  _ doing?” _ Yuri hissed. He looked very, very out of his depth.

Victor blinked at him. Wasn’t this what Yuri wanted? He must have muttered the thoughts aloud because Yuri’s eyes widened in horror.

“No, Victor. No!” Yuri said. He looked like he was on the verge of an anxiety attack. That wasn’t good. Victor liked stopping those, not causing them.

“Yuuuri,” Victor whined, stumbling forward. He would hold onto Yuri. He would let Yuri know that it was all going to be alright.

Yuri scrambled away with a small yelp. Victor pouted. How was he supposed to help Yuri if Yuri wouldn’t let himself be helped?

“Victor, no, just…stop,” Yuri pleaded from a safe distance away.

Victor pouted a little more at that. Why would Yuri want Victor to stop helping him. Unless…unless Yuri  _ hated  _ him? Oh, God. Victor had known it from the start. Yuri hated him! And now here was poor, stupid Victor hopelessly head-over-heels—

He swayed, and he would have crashed to the floor (wouldn’t  _ that _ have been fun?) if Yuri hadn’t rushed forward to catch him. Victor looked up, and the tears that had prickled at the back of his eyes moments earlier were forgotten as he found himself very, very close to Yuri’s lips. What awe inspiring things! They looked so soft! Victor wanted to lean forward and fall asleep in them. No, he wanted to…he wanted to…

He reached out a hand and traced the line of them with the pad of one of his fingers.

“Pretty,” he breathed.

Yuri jerked back, almost dropping Victor onto the floor.

“Why—why don’t you sit down?” Yuri tittered.

He was such a fussy bird! Victor pictured the image of Yuri as a bird in his mind and started giggling to himself. What a pretty, funny, little bird Yuri was.He was so caught up in the thought that he didn’t even register the anxiety that once more filled Yuri’s eyes as Yuri led him to the edge of the bed. Victor sat.

“I—I’m going to get you a glass of water,” Yuri said hesitantly. “Have you…you haven’t really eaten anything, have you?”

At the mention of food, Victor stopped giggling. He looked over to where Yuri had retreated towards the bathroom, one of the paper hotel cups in his hand.

“You have food?” Victor asked. His stomach grumbled the same question.

And for the first time that night, a smile tugged at the edges of Yuri’s lips. He nodded firmly. Victor sighed happily. Food sounded  _ wonderful _ right about now. He told Yuri so.

“Right,” Yuri said. He slipped into the bathroom, but before Victor could think to whine Yuri’s name to make him come back, Yuri had reappeared. 

He crossed the room in a few strides and pressed the glass into Victor’s hands with the firm command to drink. Victor watched as Yuri backed away again and dug around in the clutter of his things on the small desk, producing a large, party-size bag of popcorn after a minute or so.  He handed it off to Victor and settled onto the bed next to him.

“I was going to watch a movie,” Yuri said. He seemed a little calmer now. “Would you—do you want to do that, or do you want to just go to sleep?”

Well, what Victor really wanted was to finally (finally) get to go out dancing with Yuri, but if Yuri was set against that, then…well, then Victor wanted to be wherever Yuri was, and he wanted to do whatever Yuri was doing. And he was too jazzed to go to sleep anyways.

“Movie!” he exclaimed, starting to fumble with the popcorn bag. 

Yuri huffed out a laugh, and opened it for him, then stood up. His smile had returned. Victor reached out a hand to touch it (it was so  _ pretty!) _ but Yuri was already turning away. A moment later, he had returned with his laptop. He sat farther up on the bed this time—near the headboard and not next to Victor. Victor eagerly, if somewhat clumsily, scrambled so he was sitting next to Yuri again. Yuri dragged the bag of popcorn that Victor had abandoned back towards them and commanded Victor to eat some more of it while he pulled up the movie.

Victor very happily did as he was told.

“I only have a few Ghibli movies on here,” Yuri said. “Everything else is cosmos episodes, and I don’t think you’d really want to watch those.”

Yuri blushed. Victor had no idea what he was talking about, but he did know that Yuri looked cute when he did that. He gave Yuri his best smile in return.

“Whatever you want to watch, Yuri!” he said.

And then Yuri laughed and Victor was thunderstruck by the sound. It was better than the sound of skates on ice, or the roar of the crowd as it cheered his name. It was better than the clank of cars driving through the Petersburg streets or Makkachin barking as he welcomed Victor home after a long day of practice. Yuri laughing was a beautiful sound; the most beautiful sound Victor had ever heard. In fact, he was fairly certain that it was the kind of sound that could cure cancer, or stop wars. It was  _ magical. _

Music started chiming from the speakers on Yuri’s laptop as the movie started. Victor tore his gaze away from Yuri to watch. He was supposed to watch. He was more likely to make Yuri smile—or even laugh again!—if he paid attention. He didn’t quite understand everything that happened in the movie, but Yuri would laugh every now and then and Victor would grin as broadly as he could. Whether Yuri was laughing at the movie or at Victor’s reactions was unclear, but Victor didn’t care. He never wanted Yuri to stop laughing, to stop being this happy. He wanted to listen to Yuri laugh for the rest of his life.

As the movie went on, Victor could feel his eyes getting heavier and heavier until eventually he let them shut. Only for a moment, he told himself. He would only rest them for a moment.

By the time the movie ended, Victor was sound asleep. He didn’t stir as Yuri put everything away and rolled Victor so he was lying on his side. The chill of the night didn’t wake him as Yuri lifted up the covers and fell asleep besides him, as Victor had so often dreamed of Yuri doing. Instead, Victor was lost to his dreams, which were filled with a puffy forest spirit who wore blue-half frames and carried around an umbrella and a magical bus that was shaped like Makkachin. Together, Victor and the spirit went on adventure after adventure, and Victor smiled in his sleep.

OOO

Victor blinked blearily awake the next morning, but he didn’t move right away. He had a pounding headache. And his mouth felt like sandpaper. He also felt vaguely, persistently sick. It took Victor a moment to realize what was wrong, and he let loose a soft swear.

He was hungover.

Victor could not recall the last time he had been this hungover. He did not care to. His head hurt enough as it was. He just wanted it to go away.

A door slammed nearby and Victor winced. He could hear the low murmur of someone talking now too and he froze. He could vaguely remember making plans with Chris and some of the others to go dancing last night after the banquet, but he didn’t remember ever going back to his room. And that voice was foreign, and familiar sounding but definitely not speaking a language he knew. It could easily have been one of the other skaters here at the Finals. He hoped to God he hadn’t…met anybody. The thought made him feel more sick than the hangover did.

But no. He was still fully dressed in the clothes he had worn to the banquet last night. Whoever it was who was speaking said something again. The language was strange, but that voice…Victor knew that voice. Slowly, ever so slowly, Victor dragged himself into a sitting position and leaned against the headboard. His head spun and he closed his eyes for a moment to make it stop. The first thing he registered when he opened his eyes again was Yuri, back to him and bent over as he rustled around for a shirt.

Because, of course, Yuri wasn’t wearing one. Victor closed his eyes before he could take in any more details. No way was this actually happening to him. No way. When he opened his eyes again, Yuri was turning around, and (thankfully) tugging a long sleeved t-shirt on. His wet hair dampened the collar. He blushed when he saw Victor sitting there.

Oh. So this actually was happening then. Before Victor had the chance to start stuttering out some awkward questions, though, the rest of last night came flashing back to him.

Showing up at Yuri’s room, drunk out of his mind.

Starting to take off his shirt before Yuri had stopped him.

Watching what had to be the most psychedelic movie that Victor had ever seen, but that may have just been the alcohol muddling with his memory.

Victor leaned forward to rest his head in his hands and groaned. He was never, ever drinking alcohol again.

“Victor,” Yuri stuttered. “I didn’t realize you were awake.”

Before Victor could reply, Yuri had raised his phone back to his ear to listen to whomever he had been speaking to. He watched as Yuri spoke a torrent of rapid fire Japanese and then smiled at whatever reply was given. Despite the tension that lined his shoulders at discovering Victor was awake, he seemed happy, almost relaxed in the easy way he leaned back against the dresser and stuck his free hand in his pocket as he talked. And the way his mouth twisted around the syllables of his native language…

After another quick exchange, Yuri hung up and fixed his attention solely on Victor. For his part, Victor could feel his heart begin a nervous race in his chest.

“I’m so sorry about last night,” Victor blurted before Yuri could say anything.

Yuri blinked in surprise at the force of Victor’s words. Victor sucked in a breath as he waited anxiously for Yuri’s reply. But Yuri just shook his head as a blush crept back up his cheeks, dismissing Victor’s intrusion on his quiet night like if it was nothing.

“It’s fine,” Yuri said. “I was just planning on staying in and watching a movie anyways.”

“Still,” Victor insisted. “It was wrong for me to just how up and impose on you like that. I should make it up to you somehow. I want to.”

“It’s fine,” Yuri said again, almost pleading. “I didn’t mind at all. It’s fine.”

Victor wasn’t listening though. He was too busy trying to wrack his hungover brain for ways to try and apologize—to somehow make up Yuri’s kindness to him. Victor hadn’t deserved it. He had humiliated himself and his friend. Yuri would have been better off last night telling Victor to leave him alone and slamming the door in Victor’s face, but he hadn’t, and that meant more to Victor than Yuri could probably ever understand.

“Breakfast!” Victor said, once the idea came to him.

“What?” Yuri asked.

“I’m getting you breakfast,” Victor said, climbing clumsily out of the bed. He stumbled when he stood up, but quickly righted himself.

“Victor—” Yuri started.

“Yuri,” Victor said, looking at his friend.

He felt awful. Not just physically, but also about last night, and he needed Yuri to understand that. He needed Yuri to accept this pitiful effort of atonement to make up for it. Yuri must have seen all that in Victor’s face because he nodded, conceding defeat.

“Alright,” Yuri said. “Although you should probably get changed first.”

Victor glanced down at himself and weathered the wave of dizziness that came with the movement. His head was still pounding, but it was getting easier to manage. He was still in the formal clothes he had worn to the banquet last night, but they were incredibly rumpled right now. Anyone would guess that he had slept in them. He had no idea where his jacket and tie had gone too. If he was being honest, he was more than a little bit afraid to ask where they may have gone. At least he could feel his roomkey in his pants pocket still.

“Right,” Victor said, lifting his head and swallowing down his embarrassment. He forced himself to smile at Yuri. “Meet you in the hall in a few minutes?”

Yuri smiled and nodded and Victor saw himself out. He fumed about how humiliated he was with himself as he changed into a pair of jeans and a comfy sweater. The friendship he had worked so hard to build would forever be called into question now, any interaction between them strained. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. He should have just left the banquet when Yuri did. Or accepted the fact that Yuri would never, ever go dancing with him, not while he was with Patrick.

Victor, in his drunken idiocy, had ruined  _ everything _ , and that wasn’t even considering how their friends would react once they found out what he had done.

Once Victor had tugged off his dress socks and slid on his loafers, he stepped back into the hall. Maybe, just  _ maybe _ he would be able to salvage this. If he was very, very lucky and Yuri was very, very forgiving.

Yuri himself was already out in the hall, leaning against the wall, looking cool as he tapped out a text on his phone. It was probably about what a fool of himself Victor had made last night. Victor waited for him to finish and they looked at each other briefly in acknowledgement and then set off, side by side, down the hall. With each soft thud of his feet against the carpet, Victor continued to reprimand his idiocy and was almost thankful that Yuri didn’t try to force conversation. They wait for the elevator in silence and rode it down to the lobby in the same manner. All the while, Yuri kept texting and Victor wracked his brain for the words the would make this right. For someone who spent most of his free time reading and writing poetry, however, Victor couldn’t think of anything.

It wasn’t until he and Yuri hit the sidewalk outside the hotel that it occurred to Victor that he had no idea where he could even take Yuri for an apology breakfast, or brunch now, as the case may be. He hadn’t even bothered to check his phone for places nearby. He groaned. Yuri glanced over at him.

“What’s wrong?” Yuri asked.

Once again, Victor forced his lips into an easy smile. He could fix this. He could make this work.

“Nothing,” Victor lied.

Yuri smiled ruefully. “There’s a place across the street that I went to yesterday that’s not too bad if you want to go there. They have outdoor seating too.”

Victor allowed himself to nod. His smile relaxed. “If that’s where you want to go, then sure; let’s go there,” he said. 

Yuri smiled and they set off together to the small paved corner square across the way. A few tables and chairs were scattered around under the trees and a few people sat at them, talking and drinking their morning coffee. The restaurant that Yuri led Victor to was a strange one: a folding chalkboard out front listed the menu items for an English breakfast, but the writing on the awning advertised a bar and a cafeteria. There was also a sign hanging in front of the window that informed Victor that the restaurant also served as a sushi bar. 

“What is this place supposed to be?” Victor asked, trying to make sense of the discordant information the place presented to him. 

“You know, I really don’t know,” Yuri admitted. “To be honest, the coffee isn’t that great and the food could probably be better too, but it’s quirky. Patrick would probably say that it has character.”

And, despite the uncomfortable mention of Yuri’s boyfriend, Victor laughed, because it was true. He glanced at the tables around them. He didn’t think it was too chilly, but he wasn’t sure how well Yuri could handle the cold weather.

“Do you want to sit outside?” Victor asked. “Or would you prefer to find a table inside?”

Yuri shrugged. “I’m good with out here. We can people watch.”

Victor chuckled and they sat down at one of the tables. A waitress came out after a few minutes and took their order, then left them once again in silence. Yuri fiddled with the set of silverware she had placed in front of them, then looked up, away from Victor, watching the people that moved around them. So he had been serious about the people-watching, then. For his part, Victor took advantage of Yuri’s distraction to study his friend. Yuri was still a little tense—he always was, when Victor was around—but the ease he had had when he was talking on the phone earlier had returned. He propped his chin on his hand as he watched passersby. He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t look anxious, didn’t seem like he was waiting for everything to go wrong at any given moment. 

And most of all, he truly did not seem upset with Victor. The silence between them was companionable, not uncomfortable. Truly then, Yuri was not upset with him. In fact, it was just as likely that he was embarrassed about last night as Victor was, and just as willing to put it behind them. The thought comforted a part of Victor that had been waiting in defensive anticipation for the worst to come. But it was never coming, was it? Because this was Yuri, and Yuri, it seemed, was willing to forgive a great deal of transgressions on Victor’s part. He didn’t hold grudges. He wasn’t capable of it. He was too kind; too gentle. 

With that realization, Victor allowed himself to study Yuri’s appearance more thoroughly. Not to look for an accusatory line in his body language, but simply because Victor wanted to, because he liked to look at Yuri. His friend had pulled the cuffs of his shirt over the heels of his hands, probably to keep them warm. It was, along with the dampness still spotting his collar, a strangely humanizing look. He wasn’t beautifully untouchable Katsuki Yuri, anymore. He was Victor’s friend. Someone who had taken care of him when he had shown up at their room drunk. The shirt that Yuri wore beneath his jacket was itself a little worn, and spelled out “Blades are for skatin,’ ya dingus” on it in a goofy yellow font. It was so typically Yuri that Victor couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t designer fashion, but very obviously something his friends had picked out for him, and something that Yuri, in turn, cherished deeply. 

“I like your shirt,” Victor said softly.

Yuri glanced over at him, eyes wide, like if he was surprised to find Victor addressing him at all. “What?” He asked. There was a blush rising his cheeks. 

“Your shirt,” Victor said again. “Did Phichit give it to you?”

Yuri looked down at himself. His ears, where they stuck out beneath his hair, turned red. “Oh,” he said, lifting his head again, “yeah. He...he found it online or something. He gave it to me a few years ago, when I got a new personal record.”

“Neat,” Victor said. 

Yuri nodded. 

No one had ever given him anything when he had made personal records. Granted, that was probably because Victor’s personal records also usually happened to be  _ world _ records, but even before he had become Victor Nikiforov, skating legend, no one had thought to do that. Yakov had always nodded grimly whenever Victor’s personal record would raise. He would congratulate Victor, and then launch into a tirade about what he could do better, and how he should plan to be better the next time he set foot on the ice. 

It was a coaching practice that had gotten Victor to where he was now, but he couldn’t help but wonder at how his experience and life as a skater may have been different if Yakov, if his family, had taken the time to celebrate the small victories with him. Maybe he wouldn’t have been left with this yawning void in him that screamed “more more more” after every new accomplishment. Maybe winning a gold medal would have felt like it actually meant something. 

The waitress came back with their coffee, which was, as Yuri had mentioned earlier, really not that great. The food that she brought as well wasn’t awful, but Victor had, again, had better. He longed, suddenly, for the fresh-made croissants at Graeme’s back home, and their rich hot chocolate. he loved traveling, loved this aspect of being a figure skater with the opportunity to compete around the world, but...he had come to think of Pontiac and the small world of the campus town his friends existed in as home in the past few months. And it was a home he missed now, and wanted nothing more to return to. 

“Do you want to go to the museum after this?” Yuri asked, drawing Victor from his thoughts. He nodded his head at a sharp looking blue building across the circular intersection their corner faced. 

“I was looking at it a little bit online last night. You can wander through one of the exhibits on google earth and it looked neat. I was thinking of going today before we left to see it in person.”

Victor studied the building in question curiously. Unassuming, but distinctly modern. Irregular mirrors, or windows, he supposed, reflected the clear blue sky above them. 

“What kind of a museum is it?” he asked. 

“Natural history,” Yuri replied. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to, but...I thought it would be interesting.”

“No,” Victor said. “I want to go. Who knows when we’ll be in Barcelona again, after all? Let’s go see it while we can.”

He glanced at Yuri and smiled, and it was a smile, Victor was pleased to note, that Yuri returned. There really would be no consequences then, no awkward feelings about his actions last night. They were still friends. Victor could still have this. His food, when Victor went to finish it off, suddenly seemed much better. He hadn’t messed anything up. And for a chilly winter day, Victor couldn’t help but feel very, very warm inside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so um 
> 
> Fam I'm going to level with you; I have reached a point of physical and emotional exhaustion to the extent that I am so beyond the point of apathy that I may as well be dead. Like, I thought that I reached that point around this time last year when I was wrapping up writing UYRtM, but I was wrong. I was very, very wrong. And now I'm just trying to keep functioning until the end of the week when I get to go to an actual Ball and dress up and look pretty with Muse and our friends. 
> 
> There's going to be a Yuri extra with the chapter about the drunk scene/follow up. I don't know when it's going to be written. Hopefully this weekend but at this point I really don't know. Basically, how the extras are going is that, after Muse edits a chapter, I go through and look at her suggestions, adjust accordingly and remind myself what I wrote, and around that time, if something interesting has happened, Yuri will chime in with a "I'd like to comment on this please." And then, when I next have time, we sit down and I write it. 
> 
> I am behind on...basically everything right now, so...
> 
> yeah. 
> 
> yeah I just...really want a two-day long nap at this point.


	12. Chapter 12

In the week following the final, Victor didn’t see Yuri at all. They had wandered around the museum for a good hour or so and then had walked through a park that was near the hotel. He’d been sorry when they’d been forced to return so they could finish their packing and check out. That morning had felt like a separate universe. A universe where Yuri was not in love with Patrick and Victor was allowed to let his mind play out fantasies about what a life with Yuri might have been like. No awkwardness. No worrying about whether his crush was more than a crush. No one interfering. Just the two of them, and Yuri’s eyes filling constantly with wonder and curiosity at the world around them.

Yuri had slept for most of the plane ride home and Victor had tried to as well. He had woken up at one point though with Yuri’s head resting on his shoulder and it had been hard to relax enough to fall asleep after that. Electricity had raced from the point of contact down his arm to his fingers and across his chest to his heart. He had only resisted the urge to stroke Yuri’s hair by opening up his phone and playing games, or typing poems into the notes. It had ended as soon as Victor had been forced to wake him up when they landed. Yuri had looked away, blushing, and had (predictably) gone straight to Patrick’s arms when their friends greeted them at the gate.

He won another gold at Nationals (when had time started to move so _quickly?_ ) and once again suffered through the feeling of being home-but-not-home. Hanging out with Mila and Georgi was no help, either. His life had changed too much. He missed their beloved Petersburg, but also now his apartment in Detroit, the bustling campus town, Friday night movies with his friends back there.

Once upon a time, he would have said it was impossible to call two places ‘home.’ Now he understood what a fool he had been before. He had never understood how a heart could become divided.

He was relieved when he finally returned home. Relieved and then…disappointed. Theia and Phichit picked him up from the airport, and they got dinner at Colonel’s afterwards. Patrick and his grandpa had left for vacation somewhere warm for the rest of winter break. Yurio had gone back to Russia with Victor during the nationals so he could visit with his grandfather and was staying there until after the New Year. Theia would be returning back home after they ate too.

Yuri, who had left a day after Victor for the Japanese Nationals, was not planning on coming back until the second semester of school started. He had decided to go home after the nationals and spend the holiday with the family he so rarely got to see.

Victor tried hard not to be too disappointed about that as he warmed up and went about practice every day at the rink. He still had Phichit with him here, after all. And Yurio would be back soon. And it wasn’t like Victor had any right to miss Yuri more than the rest of their friends did. It was fair, to want to be with the family who loved you during the winter holidays. It wasn’t their fault that all the holiday cheer he’d received from his father was a quick voicemail telling him happy birthday and happy Christmas and wishing him well at nationals. It wasn’t their fault that it had been just that and nothing more.

He hadn’t told any of his new friends about his birthday. He had gone out one night with Mila and Georgi when he’d been in Yekaterinburg to celebrate, and it had been fun, but somehow, bringing it up once he found out that most of their little group back in Detroit wouldn’t be around to do anything felt depressing.

In fact, everything about the lively campus town he had come to love so dearly felt bleak in the December chill. With everyone at home for the holidays, the town was quieter, places that were normally bustling centers of activity were more subdued. Victor spent a lot of his free time just walking around aimlessly, sometimes pausing in a doorway to tap out a quick poem on his phone, to be transferred to his journal, sometimes taking a picture of something he had seen to share with the group. Mostly, he just tried to stay too busy to feel lonely.

He was in the middle of reorganizing his entire library one evening when Phichit called him. He eyed the phone suspiciously before he picked up—he had become uncomfortably used to the silence and solidarity of the last few weeks, but he picked up all the same. It was probably just a pocket dial, but it wasn’t like he was doing anything important.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Victor!” Phichit greeted. “Do you want to come over?”

Was…was he being serious? None of their other friends were around. Why would Phichit want to hang out with Victor alone?

“What?” Victor asked.

“Do you want to come over? We’re having a skype party tonight!”

“What?” Victor asked again.

“A skype party!” Phichit replied, sounding no less enthusiastic than he had before. “Didn’t you see it in the group chat?”

Victor had had the group chat muted since he had come home and discovered that all his friends were going other places without him. Someone had recently changed the name from “Mac Bite Fan Club” to “Katsudon is a National Treasure.” Five months after meeting them all and Victor was still deeply puzzled by the group’s collective obsession with random types of food. Phichit must have taken his silence as a ‘no’ because he laughed.

“We’re all skyping tonight,” he said, “and it seemed silly for us to not do it together, since we live so close.”

“Oh,” Victor said.

“Sorry for the late notice,” Phichit said. “It only just occurred to me. Being here alone gets kinda weird, you know?”

And Victor smiled, because he did.

“What time?” he asked.

Phichit laughed again and told Victor to come over whenever he wanted. Phichit, it seemed, wasn’t really doing anything significant this evening either. Thirty minutes later, Victor showed up at Phichit’s, boxes of take out in his hands. Phichit smiled broadly when he opened the door and that was it. They ate at the kitchen bar and fell into comfortable conversation. Afterwards, Phichit took out his hamsters and they played with them while they waited for the scheduled call time.

Victor had been to Phichit and Yuri’s apartment before, for movie nights, but it looked different now when it was just him and Phichit. The space felt larger, probably because it wasn’t being crowded with their friends. Snow had built up on the patio. The kitchen in the corner was tidier than usual. Phichit’s bedroom door was open. Most of all though, it was strange for Victor to be there without Yuri. It was his apartment, after all.

They set the hamsters aside when Phichit’s computer started binging with an incoming skype call and when they answered it, all the air in Victor’s lungs left all at once. An ache he hadn’t realized he’d been feeling in his heart eased. There was Yuri.

“Hi Phichit-chun!” Yuri said when he saw them. “Hi Victor!”

And Victor’s mind immediately began analyzing whether Yuri’s greeting to Phichit had been more enthusiastic than it had been for him. Theia’s hellos were soft. Patrick came on thirty seconds later, looking like he hadn’t slept in days but was too hyped up to care.

“Babe!” he shouted as soon as he saw Yuri. “And hello to everyone else too,” once he noted that he and Yuri were not, in fact, on this call alone.

“How’s South Carolina, Patrick?” Theia asked once they had all gotten past their greetings.

“Surprisingly cold,” Patrick admitted. “It’s weird. But Gramps is having fun and that’s what matters.”

“What do you mean it’s cold?” Yuri asked. “It’s South Carolina. I thought it didn’t get cold.”

“Well, it’s cold.”

“I bet it’s only like, sixty,” Theia said.

“It is not!”

“Liar!” Theia shouted back, holding up her phone. “I just checked. It’s in the low sixties.”

“Okay, but, like, it was in the forties yesterday, so, ha.”

Theia shook her head at them. Patrick crinkled his nose at her. The rest of them continued to watch them like if it was a sporting event. Victor smiled. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed this, missed the way they bantered and teased each other, missed _them_ until he had it back.

“Honestly, Patrick, for someone who’s from Chicago and has since moved to Detroit, you handle cold weather terribly.”

Patrick scoffed. “It’s perfect running weather, but for like, going to the beach, this sucks.”

“Where are you anyways, Patrick?” Victor asked, leaning forward.

“Beaufort,” Patrick said. “My Gramps and I have been coming here since I was a kid. It’s our winter thing to do. Summers are Herrington.”

“Cool.”

“Mmmhmmm,” Patrick agreed. “Hey babe, how’s home?” he asked, switching directions.

Yuri laughed. “Good!”

They continued on for a few minutes, Theia and Phichit jumping in here and there, and Victor lost himself to the smooth cadence of Yuri’s voice, the way it rose and fell and shaped itself around the syllables. It was the best kind of sound and Victor was startled when it was interrupted by a series of sharp yips.

“Hello!” Yuri exclaimed, laughing. A small dog had jumped on his and was earnestly licking his face.

“Is that my baby?” Patrick asked.

“Sirius!” Theia exclaimed.

“Yaaaaas pupper!”

The dog turned away from Yuri and started sniffing at the camera on his laptop and Victor smiled. It was a poodle, smaller than Makka, but still a poodle. Same coloring, too. He wondered at the odds that he and Yuri would have made such similar choices in pets. Maybe it meant something. His heat fluttered as he realized that he wanted it to, that he wanted…whatever he felt for Yuri to have more meaning than just the average, forgettable crush.

“You have a dog?” Victor asked.

He felt it as every turned their eyes from the adorable “pupper” (as Phichit had called it) to him. Well. It wasn’t his fault that Yuri had never told him about his dog.

“He’s never mentioned it,” Victor added, feeling a bit defensive.

But Yuri just smiled, reaching forward to scratch behind the pup’s ears.

“Yes, this Sirius,” Yuri said. “or Sichan, as we call him. I considered some other names,” he added, blushing, “but I liked this one the best. It’s the brightest star in the sky, although it’s actually two stars. And a lot of cultures associated it with dogs even though they never really interacted and I just…”

He trailed off, blushing harder. “And I just really liked it,” he finished.

“Wow,” Victor said, “that’s really neat!”

Yuri’s smile could have outshone the stars, no matter how bright they were supposed to be. Victor smiled back. For a split second, they shared their own private universe, and then Yuri destroyed it.

“But that’s enough about me,” he said. “What are all of you guys up to? How are things in the States?”

Theia launched into a story about something her cousins had done on New Year’s. They had gone north to her grandparents’ house, which was on some lake somewhere, and had been setting off fireworks. Victor had spent some time with Phichit earlier in the day, but Phichit had also made plans with some of his school friends, so Victor had spent the night alone and watched the ball drop on TV.

They stayed on talking to each other for a few more stories, exchanging stories and making plans for when they were all back together. Occasionally Patrick, as Patrick was prone to do, would go completely silent and when Yuri asked him what was wrong, would sincerely ask some of the most random questions Victor had ever heard. They spent almost an hour debating the merits of time zones and discussing how arbitrary they were. From the way Patrick kept zoning out even after the discussion ended, Victor could tell that he was still thinking about it.

It was late when they finally ended the call. Theia had to get up early the next morning and so did Patrick. Yuri had to get to the rink so he could practice. Victor and Phichit were left to their own devices.

“We could watch a movie,” Phichit said once he had closed his laptop. “or were you just planning on heading home?”

Staying, watching a movie, curled up on the couch in a warm apartment with one of his friends. It was a tempting idea. But he was feeling restless in a way that he only ever did when he wanted to write but wasn’t sure what he wanted to write about.

That popped out a quick stanza in his mind and the he went back to that wriggly feeling that told him to _move_ , to go see the world, to feel the night in his _bones._

“I think I’m just going to head out,” Victor said.

Phichit nodded and saw him all the way down to the main entry of the building. He gave Victor a quick hug before he bounded back upstairs and then that was it. Victor was alone, but for the first time since he had returned from St. Petersburg, he did not feel _lonely_ , and that was as good of a place to start a poem as any. He turned and went out the door and was swallowed by the dark winter night.

OOO

He had been walking around out here for at least half an hour. Too jazzed to go home, too intent on finding answers out here in the cold to go inside, or to go dancing at the Backbeat. Something about the winter skies made the stars seem clearer, if perhaps a little more distant.

He had always felt that way about winter. Summer was hazy. Summer swallowed your feelings whole and lulled you to sleep in the grass. Summer was the distant chime of music somewhere down the road. Summer was a soft blanket and a picnic lunch and the heavy smell of the river chugging by. Summer was a daydream. Summer was a lullaby his mother used to sing. Summer was…summer was…

But winter. Winter demanded your presence. Winter demanded participation if only because it cut through everything else and made you _feel_ . Every smell, every sound, every sensation felt sharp in the winter. The smell of car exhaust, the bite of the wind on your skin, the rumble of a train that was blocks and blocks away. Winter wasn’t death, not to Victor. Winter was life, if only because it forced you so deeply into your skin and said “see here, _listen_ .” Winter didn’t let you go slipping off into daydreams. Winter was so alive that it _burned_. It burned and raged with icy fire.

And with that thought, a poem started unfurling itself in Victor’s mind. He ducked into a doorway as he started tapping it out on his phone (it was too cold to try and write it out in his notebook tonight) but it was a poem. Starting with Yuri and ending with him, Victor, he thought. It was entirely possible that it was entirely about him. It was hard to tell, sometimes, which of his thoughts were about himself and which of his thoughts were about the man that he…well, which of his thoughts were about Yuri.

_He was a_  
_Self-contained supernova_  
_Held together by his own gravity_  
_Whispers of stars and color_  
_Made all the more beautiful_  
_By the terrible vacuum of space_ _  
That cloaked him,_

_But achingly, terribly, fearfully_  
_separate from the stars_  
_That surrounded him in the void_  
_Lacking the ties and connections_  
_Of constellations, the ties_  
_Of stories and history and meaning._  
_Forever held apart_  
_By his Explosive Brilliance_

The brightest star in the evening sky had a companion, as Yuri had told him this evening. Well, Victor was the brightest star in a sky made up of skaters, laid out on the ice. Where was his companion? Where was the person he got to love, and who would love him in return? Was he to be excluded from this mystery, this treasure, that graced so many others? Always searching, never finding?

He pushed out from the doorway and strode down the street again, faster than he had been before. He didn’t want to live like this. He didn’t want to be alone forever while the man he…the man he cared for so deeply found happiness and solace in the arms of another. He wouldn’t allow that fate to be his. He would find somebody. He would find somebody. He would find…

He would find his soulmate. That somebody with the Sagittarius tattoo. Together they would form their own constellation, and together they would outshine all the other stars in the sky. He would be happy, as he had never been happy before. He would find peace, as he had never found peace before. His heart would no longer be divided between two homes, here and St. Petersburg, but would find one beside that special somebody. He would not be alone. He had a soulmate, and they were waiting for him, somewhere. They were waiting for him just like he was waiting for them, and when the time was right, they would find each other. It would be okay. Everything would work out the way it was supposed to.

With a jolt of surprise, Victor found that he had wandered to the park that he came to on occasion when he wanted to take Makka on longer walks. Some lights from the windows of the university buildings glinted from the peninsula across the lake. He could see the tall buildings rising above the water, steadfast in the certainty that they would not be overtaken by the water tonight. He cleared some snow off a bench that looked out across the water and sat down. He hadn’t realized how fiercely he had wandered away from the campustown and everything it teased at until his heart had stopped the frantic beating in his chest and he had found himself here. It would be okay. He was going to be okay. He took a deep breath and the cold air bit his throat as he swallowed it down.

He wondered how long it would be before the sun rose. He wondered if he had the patience and will to stay here until it did. He wondered if he would even be able to see the sunrise from here when it came. He sighed, breath burning all the way down, as another poem came to him. After this one… after this one he would go home to his warm apartment and to his soft bed and to Makkachin. And for the moment, he would be content. For the time being, all of that would be enough.

He didn’t allow himself to consider what life would be like when that no longer was enough, when he woke up one morning with his heart once again demanding _more_. He just pulled out his phone and thought about the sunrise, about his soulmate coming to find him. Each line pounded through him like the muffled thud of paws on the ice.

_He rises like the sun,_  
_Burning across the snow_  
_Like Helios in the older land._  
_His eyes are a golden eternity_  
_That look into you_  
_And see you_  
_And say:  
“I know you and you are mine.”_

_It is not so bad, this place._  
_This winter does not rasp or rage_  
_against my skin._  
_It does not_  
_Bite my ears or send_  
_Shards of ice through my_  
_Lungs and heart._  
_This is a soft winter_  
_That wraps its frigid fingers_  
_Around mine_  
_And caresses my face_  
_With a gentle touch._  
_This winter_  
_Drapes itself around me_  
_Like a thin blanket  
So I feel its chill to my soul._

_He rises like a fire  
__Gaining power_ _slowly.  
__Shadows streaked like smoke  
__Or desperate hands against his sides.  
__The air is thick with the heavy, smothering musk  
__Of an old and aging forest,_  
_Clear against the crisp ring of the snow._

_With a step,  
_ _He arrives._

_My heart_

_Stops._

Well, that hadn’t been what Victor had expected it to be, but if he had learned anything over the years, it was that life never was. He tucked his phone back into his pocket and trudged back through the park towards home. He was cold, and he had cocoa powder and milk waiting for him back in his kitchen. He was tired, and he knew there was a warm bed and blanket waiting for him too. Yuri would be home soon. Patrick and Theia and Yurio would be home soon.

_Yuri would be home soon._

The thought followed him like the ghost of an old friend as he made his way back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in a *stunning* turn of events, I'm sick! ~~turns out barely sleeping and working so hard you forget to eat and just being a bundle of stress weakens your immune system.~~
> 
> It's basically the exact same thing I was sick with last year in the middle of UYRtM ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ except this year I'm being proactive and listening to Muse and our friends when they tell me to go to bed and taking medicine and...yeah. 
> 
> Thank you all for the encouragement! I will be responding to comments as soon as I get a little more free time. I started writing the Yuri extra this week in one of my morning classes where the Prof lectures super s l o w, so hopefully that will be up soon too. Have a great weekend everybody and I'll see y'all again on Saturday. 
> 
> (Same Bat time, Same Bat Channel)


	13. Chapter 13

It was a relief, an actual, physical relief, when school started up again about a week later. Yurio lay on Victor’s futon and used up all of Victor’s hot cocoa mix and then proceeded to make an absolute  _ mess _ of Victor’s kitchen when he tried to make prizoski for the first time on his own. As it was, Victor only narrowly managed to stop him from setting off the fire alarm. Worst of all, though, was the fact that Yurio had brought a kitten back with him, his Christmas gift from his grandfather. Apparently, her name was “Puma Tiger Scorpion.” (She also, however, was beginning to answer to “Potya,” much to Victor’s relief).

All in all though, Victor was happy to have Yurio back. He was happy to feel crowded and needed and to be reminded on a near constant basis that he was not alone in the universe. He was happy. He was filled with a warmth that fought back against the cold whenever he went out. He felt alive. And it showed in practice.

Russian nationals had been a cinch. The goal now was to make a sweep of the European Championship at the end of the month and then Worlds in April. No one had ever done it before, but he would. He had the skill, the nerve, everything he needed. It would be easy, so ridiculously easy, even if everyone said it was impossible. Last year, he’d had some competition in the form of a Spanish skater, but that man had retired and now it was all Victor, primed and ready for him to take the stage. 

He could do it. He could cement his name as that of a legend forever.

“Victor!” he looked up at the sound of Yuri calling his name. It was a sound he would never forget; a sound that was etched into the linings of his soul.

Yuri, standing behind the barrier of the rink, jerked his head towards the door. While Victor had stayed on the ice to go through his choreography one more time, Yuri had already showered and changed. His athletic bag was swung over his shoulders. A thick woolen cap that perked up at the corners like a cat was pulled over his ears. A soft brown scarf was wrapped around his neck. For a moment, Victor allowed himself to believe that this was years down the line, and he and Yuri were together, and Yuri was standing there reminding Victor that it was time to get off the ice so they could go home, and make dinner together.

He dashed the fantasy away even as he knew that it would go on playing in the back of his mind, ready to resurface at the most inopportune moments.

“Right!” Victor said, raising his hand and waving to acknowledge Yuri’s summons.

He pushed off his skated and went around the rink one last time, practicing the most difficult of his jump combos, and then he headed towards the break in the barriers. He stepped off the ice and grabbed his skate guards from where he had left them on the rim.

He and Yuri hadn’t really talked since Yuri had come home. Victor hadn’t even been there to get him from the airport; only Patrick had gone to do that. And the moment that Victor had seen him walk into the rink the next day…well, it had been enough just to know that he was sharing the ice with Yuri once more. It was simple presence more than interaction that Victor needed then, and he had assumed Yuri would have wanted the same, after Barcelona, and after a very disappointing second place at Nationals. Better, he’d been told by Phichit, than Yuri’s usual performance there, but still not up to his full potential.

“How was your break?” Victor asked Yuri now though as they walked back to the locker room together.

Yuri shrugged. “Fine,” he said, “Quiet. It’s nice to see everyone, even if it’s only for a short period of time. I can’t imagine what it would be like to go years and years without seeing any of them at all.”

Victor nodded numbly. In a few years, when he finished skating or if Yakov went back to coaching, he hoped he would be able to come back and see  _ this _ family regularly. Winter break had been bad enough. He didn’t know what it would be like, how it would feel, if he had to go even longer without them.

“Did you have a good birthday?” Yuri asked, looking at him curiously as Victor opened up his locked and started to pull out the things he would need to take home over the weekend.

He nearly dropped the pile of clothes in his hands at the question. Yuri knew when his birthday was, presumably. Yuri cared about whether or not he had had an enjoyable one. Victor forced his breathing to remain even and dropped the clothes in his bag.

“It was fine,” he said lightly. “I went out with some friends while I was in Russia. Georgi—one of my friends from when I first started—his birthday is the day after mine. We always celebrate it together.”

“That’s nice,” Yuri said.

Victor nodded. It wasn’t like Yuri to make small talk. Did he need something? Did he…did he want to tell Victor something? Victor’s heart thundered as his mind produced two very different possibilities and then started pouring out more. He settled down on the bench and started untying his skates.

“I got you something,” Yuri said. Stuttered, more like. Victor heart stopped. His head jerked up in surprise, but he forced his breathing to stay even.

“What?” he asked.

Yuri twittered. He always twittered when he was nervous. Normally, Victor found it to be a very endearing habit but today he just wanted his heart to be resuscitated as soon as possible, preferably by the confirmation that Yuri had indeed just said what Victor had thought he said.

“Well, you got me something,” Yuri said, “and it’s actually been really helpful—”

Victor’s gift appeared in Yuri’s hands in that moment, produced from one of his deep coat pockets. Yuri twisted it around his fingers as he spoke. Victor found it hard to focus on the words rather than the movement of those long, slender fingers.

“—and it’s just been…it’s been nice, being friends with you and I know you didn’t mention it to anyone because I mentioned it to Phichit and he seemed genuinely upset once he remembered and well I wanted to get you something so I did.”

The thought of Yuri spending countless hours at some store, looking for the perfect gift, or even bent over his desk, making something, made Victor’s heart ache for everything that he wanted and everything that he couldn’t have.

“You didn’t have to do that, Yuri,” Victor said.

“I wanted to,” Yuri insisted firmly.

And Victor held his breath as Yuri swung his athletic bag around and pulled out a very lumpy package. Victor scrambled to finish pulling off his skates before Yuri handed it to him. Yuri waited patiently, even if his anxiety visibly floated off of him like waves. When Victor was all set, he stood up and swung his bag over his shoulder and then, and only then, did he take the package from Yuri. He opened it carefully (not ripping the paper as he might have otherwise, but slowly peeling back the tape because this was Yuri, Yuri, giving him a birthday present and he wanted to savor this moment for as long as he lived) as they walked out the door. By the time they hit the sidewalk, Victor had handed the paper off to Yuri and a soft, fuzzy brown, Makka-esk, sock-like thing was in his hands.

“It’s a cover,” Yuri exclaimed, “for tissue boxes. There’s a woman in my town who likes to make them. My sister got me one shaped like a star when I was little. And Phichit has one like a hamster—”

“And you got me one shaped like my Makka,” Victor breathed. The scrap of cloth on his hands suddenly became a thousand times more dear to him. “Yuri…this is the best present anyone’s ever given me.”

Yuri flushed a deep red. “I just figured, you know, you brought him with you all the way from Russia and I’m really close to Sichan and I guess, I guess I just thought it would be nice if you could bring her with you to competitions and stuff.”

“It’s perfect,” Victor said again. Yuri glanced over at him.

“You like it?” he asked.

He laughed at that. “I don’t think I would be gushing about it this much if I didn’t, Yuri, but yes, I love it.”

Yuri’s cheeks were still bright red, but by now Victor wasn’t certain if that was from the cold, or from his nerves. Either way, he nodded firmly, accepting Victor’s words as truth.

“Good,” he said softly.

They didn’t talk as they walked back towards campustown together. It was movie night, and normally they would have taken the bus, but Victor had stayed too late at the rink. They had missed it and the next wouldn’t be coming for at least another half hour. So, they walked, and once again, Victor reveled in the feeling of just getting to be near Yuri. He thought for a moment that he could be happy for an eternity just with this. Just with being close to Yuri.

Everyone was already there when they reached Yuri’s apartment. Patrick was draped across the arm of the couch, listening to Yurio talk as he played with one of Phichit’s hamsters in the corner. Theia was helping Phichit with something in the kitchen, but they both looked up and waved when they saw Victor and Yuri come in.

“Her name is Puma Tiger Scorpion,” Yurio was telling Patrick, “and she can eat your face off!”

“That’s very impressive,” Patrick said. Victor was surprised by the sincerity of his voice, but then, as someone who was so inclined towards the ridiculous, he supposed Patrick would be the only one to take the name of Yurio’s kitten seriously.

“I mean it!” Yurio said, glaring at the older man as he tried also to gauge how much Patrick meant those words.

“I know,” Patrick said. “I’d like to meet her someday. I don’t have any pets, you know. I’ve always wanted one though.”

“Cat or dog?” Yurio asked. The deal-breaking question.

Patrick shrugged. He looked so very, very tired to Victor. Cheerful still, but it felt forced. “I don’t care, so long as it’s soft, and doesn’t mind when I hold it, or doesn’t mind if I leave it alone.”

“Cats are soft,” Yurio said thoughtfully, “and they don’t mind you leaving them alone. Sometimes they want to be left alone too.”

“Cats then,” Patrick said. He closed his eyes as Yuri settled onto the couch next to him. Victor paused on his way to put his and Yuri’s coats in the closet around the corner to watch them.

“How are you feeling, P-chan?” Yuri asked gently.

Patrick sighed and the weight of the world was in the sound. “Heavy,” he said. “Very, very heavy.”

Something unbearably tender and sad flitted across Yuri’s face, but it was gone in a second as he pulled Patrick’s legs into his lap and started running his hands up and down Patrick’s calves.

“I hate winter,” Patrick breathed.

“I know,” Yuri replied. He tugged off one of Patrick’s socks and started rubbing his feet. Victor swallowed and ducked around the corner to the closet as he heard Yuri softly add “why don’t you stay here tonight?”

When Victor had finished tucking everything away, he helped Phichit and Theia grab the bowls of food off the counter (Victor wasn’t sure what it was, but it looked like there was rice and sausage and lots of seasoning) and handed them off to everyone sitting around the TV. Patrick had shifted so he was mostly curled into Yuri’s side. Yuri took Patrick’s bowl from Victor with a small smile and murmured in Patrick’s ear to take it so he could eat. Patrick shifted so he was sitting up, but still leaning on Yuri. Theia sat on the floor with Phichit and Yurio, and Victor was left the open space on the couch. He took it quietly, and did his best not to intrude on the bubble surrounding Yuri and his boyfriend.

It was Phichit’s night to pick the movie and stood up in front of the TV to introduce it now. He bowed deeply when Theia and Yuri clapped for him and then he began.

“I know you all deeply enjoyed the cinematic masterpiece that was  _ The King and the Skater _ , so tonight I am pleased to present to you  _ The King and the Skater Two _ .”

Another round of clapping, although both Theia and Yuri were chuckling now.

“I would give you a summary, but as I don’t want to ruin anything for our first-time viewers.” He gave a pointed look to Victor and Yurio, “so with that, let the show begin!”

Phichit settled back onto the floor. The movie played. This time, instead of the main character, Arthur, traveling back in time, he and his king somehow ended up in the future. It was revealed that they were soulmates and the reason they had never known was because of the time difference. The king was rapidly dying in the future, due to the fact that he was out of his own time period. He and Arthur plotted to return to the past, but were separated. The king went back. Arthur stayed in the future. There was a beautifully tragic song about seeing each other again in the afterlife. Poignant. Moving. Beautiful.

Phichit was crying as he hit the eject button on the DVD player, and Victor had to admit, there were tears prickling the back of his eyes too. He hadn’t expected it to cut so deep.

“Gets me every time,” Phichit said.

Victor nodded, but stood up and stretched all the same. “I think it might be time for me to take Yurio home,” he said. His young friend had, in fact, fallen asleep on Theia halfway through the movie.

“Do you want a ride?” Yuri asked and Victor glanced down at him. His rink-mate was just full of surprises tonight.

“What?” Victor asked.

“I can give you a ride, if you want,” Yuri said, “especially since Yurio is asleep. I wouldn’t want you to have to wake him, and then make him walk home in the cold.”

Victor was too stunned by the offer to point out that they were from Russia and a little cold had never bothered them anyways.

“You have a car?” Victor asked. Was this really happening?

“ _ Patrick _ has a truck,” Yuri corrected as he slid his boyfriend out of his arms and onto the couch. Dumbly, Victor realized that Patrick had fallen asleep at some point during the film too. “And since he’s staying here tonight and doesn’t need it, I can take you both over and then come back.”

Victor had…so many questions. Yuri had a license? Yuri knew how to drive? Yuri knew how to drive Patrick’s truck? Yuri was offering—actually offering—to give him and Yurio a ride home?

“So do you want a ride or not?” Yuri asked. He was standing now, but looking a little hesitant.

“Yes, yes a ride would be excellent,” Victor decided. Yuri was right. It would be a shame to wake Yurio.

OOO

Five minutes later, Yuri was pulling up outside of Victor’s apartment. The had forgone going to the skater’s dorms; it would be easier to just let Yurio stay the night at Victor’s. Yuri parallel parked with surprising ease and Victor opened his door and jumped onto the curb. He was surprised when, moments later, Yuri followed him and pulled Yurio out of the cab and into his arms.

“You don’t have to do that,” Victor said. “I could have gotten him.”

Yuri gave him a petulant look. “You need your hands to put in the code and unlock the door. And besides,” Yuri added, shifting Yurio in his arms. “He’s really not that heavy.”

Victor nodded and started trudging through the snow covering the parkway to the sidewalk, Yuri following closely behind him. He didn’t complain about the weight he carried in his arms even as Victor led him up two flights of stairs to the two-story loft apartments on the upper floor. Victor unlocked his door and stepped aside, heart fluttering a little, as Yuri followed him into the apartment.

“You can just set him on the futon,” Victor said. His eyes kept close watch on Yuri’s face to gauge his friend’s reaction. It was the first time, after all that Yuri would have seen his apartment.

It was tastefully appointed, Victor thought, a more than a little bit industrial chic, similar to his place back in Petersburg. Floor to ceiling windows made up two of the walls. All the accents were steel and silver and gold. Accents that Victor had, perhaps vainly, picked to match himself. Yuri’s face was thoughtful as he took it in. Unsurprised, it seemed, with Victor’s flare for the expensive. Makkachin came pounding down the stairs that led up to the lofted bedroom and Yuri quickly deposited Yurio on the futon before the poodle could overtake him.

“Hello, Makkachin,” Yuri said, stooping to scratch behind the dog’s ears. He laughed as Makkachin started licking his fingers. 

“He likes you,” Victor observed softly. That had to be a sign, right? And a good one too.

Yuri glanced up at him with a bright smile. “He reminds me of Sichan.”

Victor just nodded thoughtfully. He watched as Yuri continued to play with Makka for another minute or so and then…and then the question that had been half-gnawing at him all night slipped out.

“Is Patrick okay?”

Yuri paused for a second, his face unreadable, before he started scratching behind Makka’s ears again.

“Why would you ask that?”

“Because he didn’t seem okay tonight.”

Yuri swallowed and pulled away from the poodle. “I should go,” he said. He didn’t move.

Right, because he had his boyfriend to get home to, his boyfriend who very clearly needed him, and Victor was prying on something that was definitely not his business to pry on. But still. Maybe it made him nosey, maybe it didn’t, but if something was wrong with Patrick, then Victor wanted to know. He and Patrick were friends, after all. Not as much as Victor was friends with Theia, or Phichit, or Yuri, but still friends. And if Yuri was upset about whatever was wrong with Patrick, then Victor wanted to help.

“Yuri,” Victor said.

If Yuri made to leave, if he asked Victor not to bother him about it, then Victor would let it be. But if he didn’t…

Yuri sighed heavily, surrendering.

“Sometimes…sometimes Patrick had good days. Most of the time he had good days. And sometimes…sometimes he has bad days. Today was a bad day,” Yuri looked defiantly up at Victor as he finished, as if daring Victor to judge the man he loved, but Victor just nodded.

He remembered what Patrick had said earlier. ‘I feel heavy.’ Victor felt like that sometimes too. Sometimes for weeks and weeks. Good days, bad days. That was a language that Victor spoke and understood, even if he couldn’t explain that to Yuri now. Even if Yuri might not be in a place to appreciate that right now. So Victor didn’t try and say any of that. He had pried too far into Yuri’s business, into Patrick’s business, even if Yuri had relented easily.

“I hope he feels back to himself soon,” was all Victor said.

Yuri nodded and started for the door. Victor didn’t follow. He told himself that it was because he had Yurio to watch over and no other reason.

“He’s lucky he has you,” Victor added just before Yuri slipped out. Yuri glanced up at him, eyes wide, surprised that Victor had spoken. “I can tell that you two love each other very much.”

“Thank you,” Yuri breathed.

Victor smiled. The door closed. Yuri’s muffled footsteps retreated down the hall into silence. Victor didn’t bother going to the window to watch him leave. He just went to bed.


	14. Chapter 14

In the weeks that followed, the comfortable distance that had come between Yuri and Victor remained. Yuri had developed a tendency to arrive at the rink much sooner than Victor did for practice, but they kept an eye out for each other, and made sure that they didn’t stay on the ice too late, pushing their bodies to the limit longer than what was good for them. They walked home together and Victor would ask Yuri about what he was learning in his classes and Yuri would ask Victor about the books he was reading and what he did with his days. They were friends. Not the kind that were constantly hanging off of each other, in the way that Yuri was with Phichit, but friends. Aware that they could lean on each other for support if they ever needed to.

Since Victor’s flight left early on Sunday morning, only Theia was the only one there to see him off for the European Championships. She drove him to the airport and, like the true mother hen that she was, offered to stay with him as long as she could. She listened to Victor ramble about the competition and his explanation of the skating season intently as she navigated the roads the parking lot.

Before he went off to go through security, Theia grabbed his arm and fixed him in place with a gaze that could pin bugs to museum display boards.

“Victor,” she said, “is there anything you want to talk to me about?”

He blinked at her, surprised by her forwardness. “What?”

“Is there anything you need to talk about?” she asked again, emphasizing every word. “Anything at all?”

Slowly, he shook his head, although his heart had begun a frantic pitter-patter in his chest.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said.

That was a lie. He had been meaning to talk to Theia ever since she had come back from winter break. Ever since Nationals. Ever since the Finals. Ever since Rostelecom. He’d just been too afraid about what it was he needed to talk to her about, so he’d been putting it off, trying to play it off like it was no big deal.

Which is was. And anyways, he wasn’t going to have some major conversation with Theia right then and there, in the middle of an airport, right before he had to get on a ten-hour flight to Vienna.

“Are you sure?” Theia asked.

Victor was very, very sure that he didn’t want to have this conversation right now. He nodded. Theia sighed and let him go.

“Call me when you land. You know how I worry.”

He nodded again. This was Theia, motherly, lovely Theia, watching out for him, someone who was her senior, as if he were another one of her unruly brood.

“And how are you getting from Vienna to…um,”

“Bratislava?” Victor asked gently.

Relief flooded her face at not having to work her way through the pronunciation.

“Yes,” she said. “there. How are you getting there from Vienna?”

“I already made arrangements for a car to pick me up,” he said.

He liked this. He liked going through this checklist with her, however mundane. It proved that someone cared. And it made him feel a little bit calmer about going alone.

“Good. And you have your passport?” she asked.

He held it up for her.

“All your other identification that you need?”

He tapped his backpack, reluctant to pull out the envelope with all his visa documents in it now. “In here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, _Okka,”_ he teased.  

Theia rolled her eyes. It was a term that Yuri and Patrick sometimes used whenever Theia was being a little too overbearing. Victor smiled and pulled her into a hug.

“I’ll be fine,” he promised. “Don’t worry.”

“I know,” she said, pulling away. “I know. Best of luck to you. I’m sure you’ll be fantastic.”

He grinned. “You know I will be.”

She laughed and started walking away, back towards the entrance.

“Call me when you land!” She reminded him again.

He waved at her before he turned to go through security.

“I already said I would!”

She laughed again before she was swallowed by the crowd. Once again, Victor was on his own.

OOO

He landed in Vienna late in the afternoon on Sunday, and it was strange. He had slept on the plane, and he was worn down, as always, from traveling, but he didn’t feel tired, not yet. He knew it was because of the jet lag, but it still felt odd. For better or for worse, he really had started to settle into Detroit time.

Chris was there in the hotel lobby when Victor checked in and he grinned broadly when he saw Victor.

“I have the best news for you,” he said, and Victor believed him. Laughter danced in his friend’s eyes, even more so than it did normally. There was a lightness about him. His joy was infectious. Victor laughed.

“What is it?” he asked.

But Chris just waived his question away. “I’ll tell you later. Dinner. Let’s grab some friends. We’ll all go out together, alright?”

Victor nodded, curious but willing to wait. “Have you seen Zarya and Georgi yet? I usually get dinner with them too.”

Chris shook his head as they started walking towards the elevator. “No, but it wouldn’t surprise me if they’re already here. Text them! They should come tonight too!”

Victor chuckled and they continued to chat as Chris followed Victor up to his room. Catching up, Chris teasing that he wouldn’t let Victor take the gold so easily this year. They chatted about Geneva, and about Detroit and Russia and the people they missed from the lives they had led before everything they were had become so completely devoted to skating. Once Victor had finished putting all his things for the week away, the two of them set off again to meet their friends in the lobby.

Victor wasn’t surprised to find Mila there with Zarya when the elevator doors opened onto the lobby. He was surprised, however, to see Anya, the ice dancer that Georgi had started dating, with his old friend. And the other Swiss Ice Dancer that Victor had seen him eying at the club in Barcelona.

Some of their other friends and fellow skaters were there as well; the young Crispino siblings from Italy, one of the older skaters that Victor had brushed elbows with over the years from Sweden, a few pairs skaters whose home countries Victor couldn’t recall. Seeing them all assembled together was a small reminder that they were a community that extended past international borders and beyond the widest oceans. When he had first begun skating under Yakov, when he had to go to his first competition without Georgi and Mila, one of the older skaters had caught him moping in the corner of the ice one day. He had reminded Victor that no matter what, wherever Victor went, if he could find other figure skaters, then he would find a home. It had been a comfort to Victor then as it was a comfort to him now.

There were a few questions after Victor and Chris joined the group about whether were waiting on anyone else. When no responses came after a few minutes, they left en mass, flooding out the front doors of the hotel and onto the street. His mind immediately began grasping for the right words to use for a poem about the sight before him, all of these skaters from different lands coming together to break bread.

“Victor,” Chris said, pulling him out of his reverie. “Come here, I want you to meet someone.”

Victor followed Chris as his friend stepped up his pace and they were besides the ice dancer from Barcelona.

“Stéphane,” Chris called and the man looked up from where he had been talking to some other skaters. He smiled when he saw Chris and fell back to meet them.

“Stéphane, this is Victor,” Chris said. “Victor, this is Stéphane.”

“I’ve heard your name,” Stéphane said. “Christophe has told me some good stories.”

And Victor laughed, because it was so  uncommon that people had heard his name not because of his fame, but because of his friends.

“Unfortunately I’ve heard nothing of you,” Victor admitted, “but it’s nice to meet you, Stéphane.”

“Likewise,” Stéphane said.

Victor took a moment to take Stéphane in before Chris could say anything more. Handsome, certainly, although he looked more inclined towards heavy cable knit sweaters and warm winter fireplaces than the glitz and glamour of competitive ice dancing. He didn’t smile broadly, but it was still soft, and still easy. Victor liked him immediately, especially as a friend to balance out Chris’ over-the-top personality.

“Stéphane is my soulmate, Victor,” Chris said.

The news hit Victor like a sack of bricks. No one—absolutely no one—was more deserving of a soulmate than Chris, in Victor’s opinion, but for heavy news, to just be delivered so simply…but then, Chris would do that to Victor, wouldn’t he? They were friends. Chris wouldn’t want to make a big deal of this news, not yet, if it was still as new as Victor thought it was. He was willing to give Victor a heads up, but he probably hadn’t told anyone else yet. And as Victor processed the information more—this was Chris’ _soulmate_ —joy pierced through his heart. He squealed and wrapped his arms around Chris as they came to stop at a stoplight.

“This is _wonderful,”_ he said.

Chris laughed—his real laugh, not the deep, sensual one he gave in interviews. “I’m glad you think so too,” he said.

“Tell me everything,” Victor demanded, once he had pulled away. “How you found out, how you ended up together, all of it.”

Stéphane chuckled, but Chris just smiled even more broadly. “It’s quite the story,” he said.

“Christophe Giacometti—” Victor started, but Chris cut him off.

“Alright, alright,” he said. “But if you complain about getting an earful later, that’s on you.”

“Never,” Victor said, looping his arm through Chris’. And Chris began his tale.

Essentially, it was this: he and Stéphane had known each other since their Junior days. Stéphane, a few years Chris’ senior, had been one of the first people to greet and welcome Chris when he had come to the rink in Geneva. Chris had harbored a crush on him ever since. When Stéphane had gotten a little older, he met a pretty young man working in a pastry shop in Geneva, and as Stéphane kept coming back for the pastries and that pretty face, the two of them had gotten closer and closer until they had started dating. Chris, of course, had been devastated, but he saw that Stéphane was happy, so he tried to give up his crush. He told himself it was silly, anyways, just childhood pining and puppy love. He had tried to have other relationships. They had failed.

And then, that fall, hope for Chris in the form of heartbreak for Stéphane when Stéphane’s boyfriend broke it off to be with his soulmate, a rising-star chef he had met at a catering gig. Chris had been there for Stéphane through it all. And the two of them, already friends, had gotten closer. By then, Chris had managed to mostly forget his crush, but it grew again, stronger than ever, as he and Stéphane began to reconnect. They had almost slept together after they came back from the club at Barcelona, but Stéphane had been a little tipsy and Chris didn’t want to push it too far before they knew what was between them. Afterwards, when they had come home, they had gone out for dinner. Talked. Realized what they were. And that was that; their happy ending.

Victor sighed as Chris finished telling his story over their empty dinner plates. Victor had asked many questions throughout, many relating to why Chris had never told Victor about any of this before, and Stéphane had chimed in here or there to answer them, or when he thought that Chris had forgotten something, but mostly it was Chris’ story. Chris, whose heart had been aching like Victor’s had been recently but for so many years longer. Their conversation, the things that Chris had said, in that seedy Barcelona bathroom suddenly seemed to have much more meaning. Chris hadn’t been looking for gossip; he’d been looking out for Victor, and trying to empathize as any good friend would.

Chris seemed to guess what Victor was thinking about because when Victor met his eyes, he nodded.

“I don’t love him,” Victor said.

Chris chuckled. “Let the record show that you brought this up,” he said.

“I don’t,” Victor said emphatically.

“Take it from someone who knows, Victor,” Chris said. “You’ll feel better if you’re honest with yourself about your feelings. Hiding them just leads to heartaches and misery.”

Stéphane studied the two of them curiously, but he didn’t ask what they were talking about. Either he didn’t care, was planning on asking Chris about it later, or already knew. Victor was surprised to find that he didn’t particularly care either way, so long as he didn’t impose on the conversation now.

“That’s different,” Victor said, shaking his head. “You two are soulmates. He and I…we’re nothing.”

“How do you know?” Chris asked.

Victor balked at the suggestion. “What?” he asked.

“How do you know that you two aren’t soulmates?” Chris asked. “And besides, even if you weren’t, Victor, you deserve to be happy, as happy as I am with Stéphane, at least.”

Victor shook his head again. “Then I’ll be happy when I meet my soulmate,” Victor said. “As for now…well, it’s nothing. A distraction. A crush. Nothing real. Nothing lasting.”

Chris and Stéphane looked at each other in the knowing ways that couples did and Stéphane, thankfully, changed the subject to speculations on placements for the other divisions. Stéphane was retiring at the end of the year, and wanted another gold before he went, but there were Italian and Russian pairs who might just snatch up the title. They continued the conversation as they walked back to the hotel and parted ways in the elevator. The tension from Chris and Victor’s earlier discussion lingered throughout, and Victor was uneasy as he went to bed that night.

OOO

Victor kept his distance from Chris during practice for the next two days. He wasn’t angry or upset with his friend, but he needed his space. He needed to be able to focus on this competition, not the thoughts that filled his head every time his mind wandered to the memory of the conversation he and Chris had had at the restaurant, the one they’d had in that bathroom. Anything having to do with Yuri. He was going to win the championship this year. No one was going to stop him. He wasn’t going to let him. And from there…well, from there it would just be the worlds. No big deal.

On Wednesday before the opening ceremonies began, Victor went with Chris and Stéphane to walk around the Old Town and see Michael’s Tower. They got lunch at a restaurant that spilled onto the square outside of the opera house. The tension that had been between them earlier was gone. He was happy for his friends.

As they walked, they all bought a few things to bring to their friends back home. Victor got some nuts for Theia, a snow globe for Yurio, chocolates for Patrick, who’s sweet tooth Victor had become deeply familiar with over the past few months. He found a plushy hamster in one shop dressed up like some famous figure from Slovakian history and bought it for Phichit. For Yuri, though, his present for Yuri Victor agonized over endlessly. In a little shop, though, Victor found a little brass figurine of a knight he had seen earlier that day, gracing a fountain Chris had wanted to see in the Old Town.

“That’s the knight, Roland,” the shopkeeper said, smiling fondly. “He’s the protector of this city.”

“I saw him on a fountain today,” Victor told her.

She nodded. “There are some who say that the fountain was built because the children could not fall asleep after Roland left. He used to sing a song to the woman he loved, whom he could never marry. It would put the children to sleep, when he left, the mayor built the fountain, hoping the sound of the water would trick them.”

Victor rolled over the figurine in his hand. He had always liked fairy tales. Legends. Stories of brave knights and cunning ladies.

“How much?” he asked.

She was still smiling as she rang him up. He had found his gift for Yuri.

OOO

After the opening ceremonies, Victor shocked the world with his short program. “Shocked” he thought as he waited for his scores to come in from the kiss and cry afterwards, was an apt description. He had updated the program immensely since the Russian Nationals, in all those empty hours when Yuri and Theia had been gone, and Phichit had been his only company at the rink. The program now had the highest technical difficult in history. It still had some kinks he needed to work out, but…

He smiled as the score came in. It was just a hairsbreadth from a new world record, but it was still excellent. Better, certainly, than any of the PRs of his fellow competitors. Yakov would have been complaining to him by now, upset that Victor hadn’t taken the record the program was capable of getting on his first try, but Ciao Ciao just thumped him on the back.

“Well done, Victor,” he said.

“I still have some things to work on with it,” Victor said.

Ciao Ciao shrugged. “Then we’ll work on them when we get back. For now, focus on your free skate. Make sure you’re ready for tomorrow and you’ll get gold; I know it.”

Victor nodded and tried to make a heart with his fingers for the press. A million cameras snapped at once, and he knew whose picture would be gracing the front pages of tomorrow’s news.  Better than that, he knew he would be able to set the records at World’s. He had it in him. And he had updated tomorrow’s free skate in the same way he had updated the short program. If he played his cards right, it would be a record breaking season all around. He loved those. They always left him feeling powerful and untouchable.

When he was done in the kiss and cry, he found Zarya and Georgi sitting in the stands and joined them.

“Good job, Victor,” Zarya said with a smile.

Georgi nodded in agreement, but he kept his eyes on the ice. If he tomorrow went well for him, he’d probably place in third, behind Victor and Chris. Zarya launched into some analysis of his performance, but Victor eyes stayed glued to Georgi. He had never studied his friends too closely. After talking with Chris the other night, he wished he had. Now, looking at the straight line of Georgi’s mouth, the way he rested his chin firmly on his hands as he distinctly ignored Mila, it occurred to Victor that Georgi did not like coming in behind him all the time. They were the same age—their birthdays only a day apart—but when all was said and done, Victor’s was the household name, the name everyone would remember well after they were gone. Georgi…Georgi would just be another skater, another third-place face. Interesting for the records and the fanatics but no one else.

“I wonder what Yakov would make of everything, if here were here,” Victor said, breaking Zarya off.

She giggled. “There was a rumor he might show up just to watch us, but so far, no one’s spotted him.”

Victor laughed at the thought of Yakov sneaking around the crowd to keep an eye on his former students. “I bet he would say we’re slacking off,” he said.

“I bet he’d say that we’ve all become terrible disappointments in the time that he’s been away.”

“I bet—” Victor started.

“I bet he would get in trouble with Lila if he were here, but he wouldn’t mind if he did,” Georgi said.

Zarya and Victor paused to look at him. He glanced over at them and shrugged.

“You know it’s true. That’s what drove them apart in the first place, after all. He kept putting skating before her, and that’s not what you’re supposed to do when you love somebody.”

“He loved skating too, though,” Zarya said quietly. “He gave his _life_ to it.”

“And she gave her life to the ballet,” Georgi snapped back, “but I bet you anything she always made time for him.”

“Or maybe she didn’t,” Victor said. “It’s none of our business either way.”

Georgi rolled his eyes and turned back to the ice. “Just goes to prove how silly the idea soulmates is. It’s no different than any other relationship.”

Oh. Oh Victor had certainly stumbled on a long-standing argument between Zarya and Georgi. He glared at her, and she gave him a look of false innocence in return.

“I have friends in Detroit who aren’t soulmates,” Victor said carefully, “but they’ve been dating for years. You can see how much they love each other every time they look at each other. It’s in every touch. Every snippet of conversation.”

His eyes flickered up to Georgi, who was very pointedly not looking at him.

“I’d be lying if I said I don’t believe in soulmates, Georgi,” he said, “but I also know that love and happiness can exist outside of them, so maybe you’re right, maybe it’s no different than any other relationship. But I think there’s something beautiful in wanting it to be. I think there’s something beautiful in the idea of someone who has been made to be your match in every way.”

He waited for Georgi to respond, but his friend just picked at the edge of his seat.

“I bet he would be proud of us,” Georgi said at last, “even if he didn’t say so in so many words.”

Zarya leaned her head on his shoulder. “I bet he would be too,” she said thoughtfully.

Victor fished his phone out of the pocket of his warm-up jacket in held it in front of him.

“Smile!” he said, and then he clicked to take the picture.

Zarya shifted her head from Georgi’s shoulder to look at it.

“My face always looks funny in selfies,” she complained.

Georgi leaned over to see what the problem was and laughed. “Zary you look fine. You always look fine.”

“I don’t want to look fine, I want to look fantastic,” she teased.

They all laughed again. Victor offered to retake it, but she turned him down, as he knew she would.

“My handsome boys,” she cooed as she watched Victor post the photo on Instagram. “And funny-looking me sandwiched between you! You haven’t met anyone lovely in Detroit yet, have you, Vitya?”

Victor nearly dropped his phone at the question. Partly because it had come out of nowhere, partly because an image of Yuri had immediately risen in his mind as an answer. Mila laughed at him.

“You really think I’m going to meet anyone in _Detroit_?” he asked, trying to play off his surprise as something else.

“I don’t know,” she said. “You always seemed to have a knack for seducing women and men left and right wherever you went, so perhaps.”

He chuckled at the thought—she wasn’t entirely wrong, after all—and pecked her on the cheek.

“No one lovely,” he lied. “Not yet.”

She sighed heavily. “Well then, at least I’m not single all alone. You know, all things considered, Georgi, Anya really is quite sweet.”

He smiled, but stayed focused on the Spanish skater on the ice. “Yes she is.”

Zarya looked at Victor with big eyes and mock whispered to him. “He hasn’t let me third wheel in ages. Maybe we can all go out alone together while we’re here. You need to meet her. And we didn’t really get to catch up at all the other night.”

Victor chuckled and slid his phone back into his pocket, photo posted. “Anything you want.”

She sighed happily. “Oh, I miss how you two both used to spoil me. But now you’re gone and Georgi’s in love. No more spoiling for poor old Zarya.”

Victor closed his eyes and smiled as he resettled into his seat so he and Zarya were both sort of leaning on each other. Good thing no one was sitting next to them; his feet were half in the next seat, Zarya’s had ended up in Georgi’s lap.

“Spoil yourself, then,” he said. “That’s what I’ve been doing all these years.”

“Not as fun,” she mused. “I need a boyfriend. Is that Swiss friend of yours still single?” she asked.

“Chris? No, he…he has a boyfriend now.”

“Damn,” she swore. “Should have known better, that a pretty face like his would already belong to someone else.”

“Do you have preference?” Victor asked, mentally ticking off everyone he knew who might be compatible with his friend.

“Me?” she asked. “No. Just so long as they’re young and beautiful and willing to spoil me with adventures.”

“I’ll think about it,” Victor assured her.

“Good,” she replied. He sighed as she started running her fingers through his hair.

“I miss your long hair. It was pretty. And I could braid it. Now,” she said, tugging on the short strands, “not so much.”

“We all have to grow up eventually, Zary,” Victor warned her.

“But did it have to come at the loss of your beautiful hair?” she asked.

“How else was I supposed to surprise them?” he asked.

She kissed his forehead and he squirmed. He hated when people brought attention to it. It made him feel uncomfortable. It was too broad. Too wide. Too much like his father’s.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t know.”

OOO

The week ended as Victor had expected it to; him with the gold, Chris with the silver, Georgi with the bronze. Chris had given him a fight in the end, but Victor had prevailed with a program that was, once again, millimeters from breaking the record. If Yakov had been there to watch them all in person, Victor and his friends didn’t catch sight of him. Maybe the old man really had given up skating for good. Maybe he had been happily at home with Lilia all week, playing checkers and drinking cocoa.

He had been pleased, however, to find out during the banquet on Saturday night that he and Chris both had flights leaving from Vienna at similar times on Monday morning, so they made arrangements to get a ride to the airport together. Stéphane would be joining them, but that was it. The other Swiss skaters had made their own arrangements and Zarya and Georgi weren’t leaving until later in the day. He had called Theia on Sunday after the Exhibition to confirm everything with her. She had congratulated him soundly and promised that she would be there to greet him when he came home.

Home.

Home to Yuri and Yurio and Phichit and the ice they all loved. Home to Theia who mothered him and Patrick, who Victor was starting to suspect was very much his kindred spirit. Home to quiet suburban streets and a noisy campustown a stone’s throw away. Home to a place where he could see the pinpricks of the stars every night before he went to sleep. Home…home to the man he loved, even if they couldn’t be together.

As he and Chris said their goodbyes at the airport, Victor held his friend tightly. He wasn’t ready to let Chris go, let all of this go.

“I’ll see you in Boston this spring,” Chris promised. “At worlds.”

“I know,” Victor said. He was dangerously close to tears. Stéphane had stepped to the side to give them some privacy.  

Chris pulled away. Victor hesitated, and then it all came spilling out.

“I think, I think you’re right,” he said. “About all of it. And I was just…I was just afraid of what that meant and…” he trailed off, ready to admit the truth now, but not ready to say the words out loud. Not without direct prompting.

And even though it was everything that Chris had been pushing him to admit, Chris’ face was incredibly sad as he brushed Victor’s bangs away so they could look each other in the eyes. Victor swallowed, but didn’t balk.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Chris asked.

Victor nodded.

“If you ever need someone to talk to,” Chris said, “I’ll be there. And if you ever need someone to play wingman for you when you’re ready to let go, then I’ll be there too.”

Victor laughed, but it was full of all the tears he hadn’t shed. “Thank you,” he said.

“Anytime,” Chris replied. “That’s what friends are for after all, right?”

“Right,” Victor said, nodding and laughing again. “Alright, I better—I have a plane to catch.”

“See you in eight weeks!” Chris called as Victor started walking away.

Victor turned around and waved and Chris and Stéphane waved back. He walked backwards, waving to them, until a crowd came between them and they were out of Victor’s sight. He texted Theia when they started boarding and the moment he reached his seat, he closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep. There were two things that he knew with unwavering certainty following this week, and both left him tingling with anticipation and exhaustion.

The first was that he was going to win the worlds. He didn’t care what it would take, he would do it. Because he was Victor Nikiforov, living legend, and that was the sort of thing that living legends did.

The second was that was he was completely, absolutely, and undeniably in love with with Katsuki Yuri. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Yuri Extra from Barcelona!](https://batmads-ao3.tumblr.com/post/171028561996/barcelona-extra)
> 
> There's also going to be an extra that goes with this chapter because...Yuri and Patrick need to have an important relationship development ;)
> 
> In other news, I am now (mostly) not sick! And while I constantly have homework to do, I've started writing in one of my really s l o w 8:30s and meetings I have where technology got taken away because we were abusing it. So the extras that I planning on should start coming a little more quickly. Yay!


	15. Chapter 15

Everyone had been there waiting for him at the airport, complete with balloons and confetti. If it had been anyone else, Victor would have been surprised, but when he saw them, he just laughed. How so typically like them to go over the top for him. To be even more excited about everything than he was. They truly were the family he had always needed. They had, naturally, gone straight to Colonel’s afterwards, where Donald had prepared quite the cake (this, of all things, had been a surprise. He considered Donald to be capable of many things, but making gourmet cakes shaped like a gold medal draped set of ice skates was not one of them).

The cake had been fantastic, as was to be expected of all of Donald’s cooking, and the group of them stayed crowded around their table far longer than Donald normally would have let them. They celebrated. And for the first time, Victor allowed all that he had accomplished hit him not as some brief points of interests on the way to a big finale, but as something great on his own.

He smiled. He laughed with his friends. He ate a good quarter of his cake in one sitting. Afterwards, Yuri and Patrick had predictably wandered off while Victor tried his best to not think too hard about where they were going and what they were going to do. Theia dropped Phichit off, then Yurio, and then they were idling outside of Victor’s apartment. He had asked her to get coffee with him later in the week, and while Theia had quirked her eyebrows in interest, she had finished saying her goodbyes to him calmly before driving off.

But that was Theia. She took everything in stride. And now, if she thought he was beating around the bush at things while they sat together at the back table in Graeme’s she didn’t comment on it. He was still working up the nerve. He knew he didn’t have to tell her, after all. She probably guessed. And Chris had already gotten him to admit it to himself. He didn’t need Theia to help him work through his thoughts and feelings because he knew what he thought and felt. He didn’t need to share the secret because he already had. Still, though, he wanted to tell her, even if he couldn’t explain just why to himself. Maybe because she was so deeply involved in the situation. Maybe to ask her to be a buffer. He didn’t know. But he couldn’t keep running away from it forever.

“So no one has seriously ever done this before, ever?” she asked.

Victor nodded. He’d been killing time telling her about his goals for the season, winning Worlds now that he had the Grand Prix title and the European Championships claimed. He was also aiming to set some records while he was at it, but that was secondary. Records could be broken, and maybe later skaters would pull this off as well, but still. he would be the only one with the claim of “first” on this run if he succeeded.

Theia nursed her tea appreciatively.  “You can do it,” she said. “I don’t know much about skating, but I know you, and if anyone can pull it off, you can.”

“Thanks,” Victor said.

They drifted into an awkward silence. He took a sip of his chocochino, which had been his favored drink since Patrick had shoved one into his hands a few months back with the demand that he “try it.” Theia studied the people sitting in the coffeehouse around them. There was a little girl with pigtails coloring a piece of paper on the chest of drawers in front of the fireplace. Her mother was half-turned around on the leather loveseat, talking to a friend waiting in line.

Theia wasn’t going to prod him. She wasn’t going to ask him. She wouldn’t push. She was going to wait for him to come to her because that’s how Theia worked. She didn’t impose herself on others. She didn’t like to, he knew. And even if it would have been easier for him if she demanded answers and he was forced to admit the truth, she would never do that. She would never be so presumptuous as to think that she deserved to know. So he would have to say it on his own. Hard, considering he had never said it out loud, and had avoided thinking about it since he had admitted it the first time.

He set down his mug and Theia looked up. It was a silent signal. He was ready to talk about the real issues, provided she was ready to listen.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said at the airport,” he started.

Theia’s mouth twisted into a sad smile. She already knew where this was going.

“And...you’re right,” he continued. “I do...I have been meaning to talk to you. For a while now. I’ve just kept running from it, because...well, it’s hard. And I didn’t want to think about it. I still don’t really want to think about it. It just feels like too much, sometimes and—” he stopped himself. he had been wrong. He didn’t have the strength to say it, even if he did want Theia to know.

“Did you know that I avoided talking to Maria for a week after I found out that we were soulmates?” Theia said. She ran her finger around the rim of her mug and chuckled.  “It’s a funny story, actually, how we found out; I’ll have to tell it all to you sometime, but the gist of it is that we met at music camp when we were in high school and I had spent the entire week in total awe of what a badass goddess she was—and with pipes that could put angels to shame too—and just...at the end of the week, we found out in the absolutely stupidest way possible.

“I was dumbstruck. I think now I might have been in shock, but she was just really excited. She wouldn’t stop holding onto me. Or finding excuses to touch me, or be near me, and I didn’t say anything to her because I was too terrified to. I was literally horrified to talk to my soulmate. And I was relieved when my parents came to pick me up and I wouldn’t have to be around her anymore. I left before anyone could tell them the news. I didn’t want them to know. I didn’t want it to be true.”

“Wow,” Victor said. he wasn’t really sure where she was going with this, but if she was going to take the reins and save him, he wasn’t going to stop her.

“And finally she called my house. I don’t even know how she got the number, but she did. And my mom picked up and Maria just asked if I was home and the phone was handed off to me. No avoiding it. I couldn’t tell my parents why I didn’t want to talk to her, so I had to take it. And we talked. She asked me why I was avoiding her and I stumbled around it at first and then I told her the truth; I wasn’t ready for...any of it.

“I had never dated anyone before. I had never really thought about who my soulmate was beyond this abstract idea of a person that I would meet years down the line, maybe in college, or working at my first job. I had never dated anybody. I had never kissed a girl. I hadn’t even really come to terms with the fact that I was...well, that I was a lesbian. My parents didn’t know I was thinking about it, or suspected it. No one but my best friend at school knew. That was it. And then, here was Maria, big and wild and full of life and being with her...I thought it was a cruel joke. I couldn’t imagine how we could possibly suit each other, but we do now. We make sense. It just took me a while to realize it.”

She flicked her eyes up at him and blushed. “I’m rambling,” she said. “I’m sorry. I thought I had a point but I think I lost it.”

But no. Hearing that, somehow it had been exactly what he needed. He knew how to approach it now. Truths were always easiest told through a story. And he had a story to tell now.

“My friend Chris just met his soulmate,” he started. “Well, they didn’t just meet, but they just found out they’re soulmates. I saw them together in Bratislava and you’re right; they made sense. Chris, he’s been hounding me for a few months now because he knew that I…”

Now or never. He swallowed and took the plunge.

“He knew that I was in love with Yuri, even before I did.”

No reaction from Theia. He kept going.

“He knew because he had been the same with Stéphane, for years and years, and had to sit by and watched while the man who ended up being his soulmate was happy with someone else and there was nothing he could do about it. I tried to deny it for a long time. I...something happened in Barcelona, and I think that’s when I knew, and I wanted to talk to you about it because I knew you would listen, but it’s like I said before, I was afraid and—”

Theia reached her hand across the table to squeeze his. “It’s scary being in love,” she said, “especially when you’ve never really felt it before.”

“And he’s with Patrick,” Victor said miserably, “and already very happy.”

Theia nodded, but didn’t let go, not really. She laid his hand flat on the table and tapped his fingers, thinking.

“Do you think Yuri is your soulmate?” she asked.

At that, Victor laughed. He loved Yuri, saying it out loud, admitting it to himself, then to Chris, and now to Theia made it a little easier to think about, but never, in a million years, would he ever think that he and Yuri would be soulmates. His soulmate...his soulmate had to believe in astrology, right? To get a sagittarius tattoo? And that didn’t suit deeply scientific Yuri. He had always imagined that his soulmate would be Russian too, and just as deeply in love with Petersburg as he was. His soulmate would like great poetry. And watch foreign films with him. And sit at cafes with him and judge other people’s terrible fashion choices. All of those things...they were not Yuri. And Victor didn’t want Yuri to be any of those things either. He had his soulmate waiting for him, and Yuri had Patrick. That was that.

“You really think it’s that preposterous?” she asked, smiling.

“Yes I do,” Victor said. He chuckled again at the thought of Yuri being his soulmate. God, they wouldn’t know what to do with each other.

“I could see it,” Theia said, eyeing him. “Like...you both like skating, and you’re both dreamers. And he’s very grounded while you can be a little wild sometimes. You’re in love with him too.”

Victor shook his head. “Yuri and I would not work as soulmates, even if he wasn’t in love with Patrick.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“He’s not Russian,” Victor said.

“That’s makes a difference?”

He shrugged. “It does if we’re going to move to St. Petersburg together when I retire.”

Theia rolled her eyes. “Okay, but how does...you know what? Nevermind. Next on the list of Why Your Soulmate Isn’t Yuri?”

“He doesn’t like poetry.”

“Of course he does,” Theia said. “Everybody likes poetry.”

“Not the way I do,” Victor argued. “Theia, can you picture Yuri and I sitting together on the bank of some famous river having coffee and talking about famous poets and their works together? Elliot? Shakespeare? Puskin? Whitman?”

She sighed. “No, I can’t, but do you really think that will make or break your relationship?”

“First of all,” Victor said, “this is an imaginary relationship; it’s never actually going to happen. Second of all, yes. I want to be able to talk about the things I love with my soulmate, and that includes poetry.”

“Fine,” she said, holding up her hands in surrender. “Any other reasons?”

“Yuri would not sit by and judge other people with me, and that is essential bonding for any lasting relationship.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I can’t see him doing that. Maybe you’re right, but it was just a thought.”

“A silly one,” Victor teased.

Theia shrugged. “Personally, I’ve always thought that your soulmate is that one person you want to love no matter what. I’m not saying you always love them, or you always think they’re perfect, but you want to. And you want them to love you too.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” Theia said, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, but willing to share because be was willing to listen. “It’s just that, like, even when I was afraid of Maria, even when I was horrified with the idea of us being soulmates, there was a part of me that thought it was kind of awesome, and that wanted to see what it would be like to be in love with her, and have her be in love with me. When distance gets tough, because it does, I always want to make it work, somehow. I don’t care how, but I want to. Because I want to be the one who loves her, I want to have this relationship, even when it sucks. And I want her to want that too.”

“My old coach gave up coaching so he could work things out with his wife,” Victor said. “We all thought it was a miracle.”

“See!” Theia said. “He wanted to make it work. And she wanted to make it work to. It’s not this idea of perfect love or infatuation that defines soulmates. It’s a willingness to make the relationship work no matter what.”

“So I have to find the person I want to be in love with is what you’re saying,” Victor said. “or at least, if I want to find my soulmate.”

“Yes,” Theia replied, “are you sure you don’t want to be in love with Yuri?”

“Theia,” Victor said. “He’s in a relationship with another man. Why would I possibly want to be in love with him in that scenario?”

“Fine,” Theia said. “Fine; you make a good point. But I still think you two would be cute together.”

“Shouldn’t you be rooting for Yuri to _stay_ in his committed relationship with Patrick?” Victor asked.

Theia shrugged. “I guess I just don’t think they’re always the best for each other.”

Victor snorted. Yuri and Patrick were incredible together. Anyone who couldn’t see that had to be blind.

“Enough of this,” he said though. They were just going to keep running in circles otherwise. “I’m in love with Yuri. You know now. Now tell me more about Maria. The full story: How did you two meet?”

Theia smiled. Victor took another sip of his drink. The afternoon went on, and something that had been tight in his chest eased.

OOO

A week or so later, Victor stared up at his ceiling without really seeing it. Makkachin was snoring besides him. Every now and then, a car would drive by on the street below and Victor would watch the glimmer of headlights track their way across his room. He’s been laying here for hours, mind empty, but still reeling over nothing. He’s tried reading. He’d tried scrolling through social media, listening to music, writing (although he had nothing to write _about,_ exactly). Everything. Every last thing that he could think of to try and coax his mind towards sleep had been tried and had failed to accomplish what he needed most. It was useless. For whatever reason, tonight, he just couldn’t find dreams. He could remember the poem he had written before, on a night like this. It often came to him when he was in this sort of mood.

 _I remember_  
_My restless youth,_  
_Filled with too many nights_  
_Where I was too_  
_Jazzed to slow_  
_My racing mind_  
_Although my body ached_ _  
For the sweet reprieve of sleep._

With a sigh, he rolled out of bed. If he wasn’t going to fall asleep, he may as well do something useful with his time. Makka lifted his head as Victor stood up, thumped his tail twice, and then went back to sleep. Victor scratched behind the poodle’s ears and eased over to where he had dumped the sweatpants and other clothes he’d been wearing around the apartment that evening after he’d come home. Once dressed, he tromped down the stairs. On the main floor, he flicked on every light that his fingers could find. What was he looking for? He didn’t know. What did he want? He wasn’t sure about the answer to that question either.

He patted around his pocket for his phone and sprinted back up the stairs once he realised he had left it on the nightstand. He flicked through his music as he came down the stairs again (slower, this time) until he found a song that seemed even remotely appealing. He opened up the fridge and browsed for something to eat as the opening verse started. Nothing. Nothing that looked even vaguely appealing and nothing that he could just snack on. He glanced over at the collection of movies he had stacked by the TV and wandered over to see if there was anything that would suit his interests, but again, nothing. He let out a growl of frustration as he paced through the downstairs. He wanted—no, he _needed_ —to do something, but what? It was like an itch that he couldn’t reach to scratch, and it was maddening.

He only stopped his pacing to pause by the window. Buildings filled with slumbering inhabitants stretched down the street. No snow, just cold darkness, and even colder earth below. He brushed his fingertips against the glass, shuddering a little at how freezing it was. A sleeping world, and just beyond it, a sky peppered with the barest pinpricks of stars. He wanted to hold them in his palms like if they were a handful of the rarest diamonds. His breath fogged up the glass, and he stumbled away from it. He scrambled to find his keys and to grab his long overcoat from the hook by the door and shove his feet into his loafers. He didn’t think about how cold it would be outside; he just locked up the apartment door and bounded down the stairs with all the grace of a water buffalo in his rush, his desperate aching _need,_ to be out there under the stars.

He glanced about wildly when he hit the street, not really sure where to go except that he needed to go somewhere _now._ His feet picked a direction and he blindly set off, breath huffing in front of him in clouds, fingers jangling keys in his pocket, eyes fixed on the distant stars. Music continued to chime in his pocket. He hadn’t bothered to turn it off when he had left and just left the song on repeat. His mind focused on reaching for words that, like the stars, were just beyond his reach.

“What stars are these,” he breathed, “that grace the evening skies?”

He had written a handful of poems to go with the couplet in the months that he had been here. None of them had ever been right. At best, they were a testament to just how frequently he could come up with beautiful phrases filled with the wrong words. At worst, they were a monstrosity, a disgrace to the beauty and meaning that filled those first two lines and evidence that he should stop writing poetry while he still could. He took a few more steps, half dancing along with the music.

“Are these the same stars/I’ve seen in my dreams,” he continued, “Tearing apart my life/Ripping it at the seams.”

He paused and pulled out his phone to type it out in the notes. He tapped his fingers against the sides of the case when he was done, considering the words that shone up at him. Still not perfect, and the new bit would likely stand better on his own, but...it was something. He may as well keep riffing on it.

“I love him to the moon and back,” Victor said, testing out the words on his tongue. He continued to half-dance as he walked, trying to match the rhythm of the music in his feet and in the poem.

“Beyond the stars and the seas,” came as the next line.

He spun and his coat, which he had never bothered to button, flared out around him.

“His stars, his heart,” Victor continued, dancing back and then forward. “Reminding me that life is/not always what it seems.”

He skidded on a patch of ice and laughed as he stumbled, then righted himself. In his pocket, the song started playing again.

“What stars are these,” he said again, mentally starting off another stanza and using the couplet as a crutch to keep the poem going. “Chasing me across the skies?/We fly through the universe together,”

Another spin and slide.

“Race through life together.”

He paused to do a quick step with the piano chords.

“And wherever I turn to look/he and I is all I see.”

He closed his eyes and continued to dance down the street, humming along with the music. One more stanza. One more stanza and then he would be done with it, but he wasn't sure where he wanted to take that stanza just yet. He invented an invisible partner, formed out of his shadow, to dance with. He danced with them, and they were always just out of his sight, just over his shoulder, just beyond his reach. The song restarted, and restarted again and again until he lost track of it. Victor went on, oblivious to the cold and almost the music, only feeling the phantom of hands turning him around and dragging him back in again.

“What stars are these,” he finally said again, “That glimmer in the skies?”

He slid on a patch of ice again but didn’t stumble.

 _“Cold and distant like his eyes_  
_Once were on mine_  
_Can I make them warm to me_  
_Can I bring them down to me_  
_and hold them in my hands_ _  
like he holds my heart in his?_

“What stars are these,” Victor finished, “that grace the evening skies?”

His feet stopped, although the song went on. He opened his eyes fully to see where he had ended up and almost laughed at the perfection of it. He supposed he had known with every step, shuffle and sashay where he had been headed, but he had been too focused on the music, the poem and the cold press of the night embodied in the phantom hands of his partner to really think about it. Of course, though. Of course, of course, of course.

He was standing in the parking lot of the Detroit Ice Club, the hideous blue letters lit up against the dark night sky and the stars scattered above them, distant and unimpressed. He fumbled with his keys and started towards the door. Ciao Ciao had given him a set of keys on his first days as a “just in case” sort of thing. Skaters, after all, were the same as all creative people: some of them had the tendency to keep odd hours. He had never needed them before, but Victor was glad that he had them now.

He found his phone in his pocket and silenced the music. The night seemed infinitely colder, infinitely emptier, without it, but it had been a distraction that Victor no longer wanted. He listened to the heave of his lungs as they fought the bite of the winter air. He sorted through his keys and strode towards the door, mind suddenly as clear as the sky above him. He had left his skates in his locker after practice today, and as luck would have it, part of his evening ensemble included a warm pair of woolen socks. The rest of his outfit would be fine for skating in. Perfect, actually, once he ditched the overcoat.

He was surprised, when he reached the door, to find that it was already unlocked, and more surprised still to see the glimmer of lights in the hallway by the rink entrance when he stepped inside.

“Hello?” he called, shutting the door behind him.

No answer. Still, though, he started down the hallway in that direction. Hair rising on the back of his neck but undeterred. Who else could be here at this hour? Who else could possibly be this crazy? The only sound in the building seemed to be the harsh rasp of his breath, still adjusting from being out in the cold, and the gentle thud of his loafers against the floor.

Oh, he hoped to God that whoever was here was a fellow skater and not some crazy axe murderer. He really didn’t feel like getting beheaded tonight.

“Hello?” he called again.

He reached the doors leading to the rink and pushed them open. All the lights insider were on, thankfully, saving him the horror-movie terror of watching someone come in and out of the spotlight-glow of the emergency lights. He started to call out again, but his breath hitched as his eyes finally caught on the lone figure on the ice.

Not an axe murderer, thank the Lord.

Just Yuri.

Well, not really “just” Yuri because Yuri was never really “just” anything, but still. All Victor had to be afraid of was his heart going sick with longing for something he could never have. No chance of a beheading tonight.

For a moment, he was too stunned to do anything besides watch Yuri as he skated. It was impossible, but it was almost as if Victor could hear the music that Yuri skated to in his mind. Yuri created it with his body as he moved across the silent rink, eyes fixed on something Victor would never be able to see, mind clearly focused the routine he skated, but at the same time, a million miles away, at another rink, in another time. When at last Victor remembered his own existence, he could only bring himself bring himself to move numbly to the stands and keep on watching. Yuri was breathtaking, beautiful in his isolation. The song he composed with his body as he skated unfurled across the blank canvas of Victor’s mind, familiar and alien all at once, like if it was the only thing that had ever mattered.

Yuri was the past and the present and the future. He was raw grace, the bare innocence of youth, the steadfast strength of an old warrior combined into one. He was untouchable, unknowable. He was the only thing Victor could remember knowing in his entire life. He was everything Victor had ever wanted, every dream half-remembered and longed for upon waking. Every shattered line of poetry he had ever thought or written, every faded star in the sky.

There was a line from Rumi that Victor had always adored that came to him now. “You are the universe in constant motion.”

Yuri was all that and more. He was every question that Victor had ever whispered into an empty room and every answer that had never come. He was enrapturing, enthralling. He was…he was…

He was stopping.

Why was he stopping? What possible acceptable reason could Yuri ever have for putting an end to this beautiful madness? What reason could he have? Why would he ever deny—

Yuri froze when his eyes landed on Victor sitting in the stands. Victor felt like his entire life was a dream he had only just woken up from.

“V-Victor?” Yuri stuttered.

Victor exploded. Words spilled out of his mouth faster than he could think them. He barely noticed the way Yuri’s eyes widened at Victor’s gush of awe-struck compliments, or the way that Yuri seemed to slide farther and farther back on the ice as Victor found it in himself to come closer and closer to the ice until he was practically leaning over the barrier separating the two of them.  

“I mean, it was just, you’re just…” Victor trailed off, coming to a finish. He glanced up at the love of his life. “Yuri, how do you _do_ _that?”_

Yuri blinked at him. His cheeks were flushed red up to his ears. He still seemed to be a bit shocked to have found Victor sitting there watching him.

“Victor,” Yuri said, voice wavering with either nerves or fear. “Victor, what are you doing here?”

Victor was briefly taken aback. What was he doing here? Well, on the surface, riding out a rare wave of insomnia. Beneath that, though, he was here because some force of providence or destiny or something else had brought him here.

Not that he could say any of that to Yuri right now. Yuri wouldn’t understand what any of it meant, wouldn’t appreciate the significance of this moment in the same way that Victor did.

“I don’t know,” Victor said instead. “I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk and ended up here. I was going to skate for a bit.”

“Oh,” Yuri said.

“Mmhmm.”

Silence filled the air between them for what felt like an eternity.

“If you want to be here alone though,” Victor said at last, “I’m can…”

He jerked his head towards the door as an explanation and shoved his hands into his pockets. One of them squeezed around his keys and the sharp metal bit into his palm. His heart was tapping out a frantic pitter-patter in his chest. He didn’t want to go, didn’t want to—

“No, no, you should stay,” Yuri said, skating forward to meet Victor. “I just...I didn’t expect to see you there, is all. You surprised me.”

“Are you sure?” Victor asked, hardly daring to believe that this could be real, that Yuri could really mean the words he was saying.

You _should_ stay. Not ‘you _can_ stay,’ but you _should_ stay.

Yuri smiled. Victor’s heart fractured into a million different galaxies that somehow together composed a universe.

“Stay,” Yuri insisted.

Victor grinned like a dope. “Okay,” he whispered. “I, um, I’m just going to get my skates.”

Yuri nodded and skated back onto the ice, dismissing Victor with hardly a second thought. Victor blinked, his mind still struggling to process this strange turn of events, then turned and practically ran to the locker room. He fumbled with the lock a few times before he got it open and then pulled out his skates, ditching his loafers and overcoat as quickly as he could. He slid down the tiled hallway in his thick socks and was rinkside again in minutes.

He watched Yuri out on the ice as he tugged on his skates and laced them up. Yuri wasn’t skating the program from earlier anymore; instead, he was working on his jumps, trying to land a quad flip.

Well, that was a jump that was quickly becoming Victor’s flourished signature across every program he skated.

“I can help you with that,” Victor said, standing. He stepped out onto the ice and it was perfection. He hadn’t realized how much he had needed this until he had it.

Yuri was lying on his back on the ice where he had fallen after his most recent attempt. He looked like he was considering every choice he had made leading to that moment and regretting all of them. He turned his head towards Victor, not even bothering to lift it from the ice, at the question. How long had he been here before Victor had arrived? What had that program been?

“What?” Yuri asked.

Victor reached the spot where Yuri lay and looked down at his friend.

“The jumping,” he said. “I can help you with that.”

“Oh,” Yuri replied. His eyes wandered, fixing on something only he could see. Victor stood by and waited for an answer. Wasn’t Yuri cold? Granted, he was wearing the NASA sweater he had sported a million times before, so it wasn’t like he was just lying on the ice in a paper-thin t-shirt, but still. He’d been lying there for a few minutes now. He couldn’t be that comfortable.

“Yuri,” Victor said. Yuri’s eyes flicked up to him again. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, uh,” Yuri started to sit up and Victor shifted back to give him room. “I couldn't sleep either. It’s just, Four Continents is coming up and I want to be ready but I just don’t _feel_ ready and—”

“Yuri,” Victor interrupted, “Four Continents is what, over a week away? Two? And you’re a fantastic skater. You’ll be fine.”

Yuri’s eyes turned down again. He traced a pattern on the ice with his fingertips.

“But I don’t feel ready though,” he said again.

“Come on,” Victor said, coming closer once more and holding out his hand. “I’ll help you.”

Yuri looked up at him, studying or searching for something in Victor’s face. Victor had a strange sense of deja vu, back to Skate America, the first time he had done this. The space between he and Yuri had been so much greater than, and it had been before he realized the extent of his feelings, or before they had grown so strong.

“Okay,” Yuri said after a minute. “Sure. You know—you know how to do this really well.”

Well, Victor could do it better than “really well” but that wasn’t the point. He pulled Yuri to his feet, Yuri’s hands, cold and clammy from the ice, against his own, which suddenly felt far too warm. Evidently, they had both forgotten their gloves tonight.

“Right,” Victor said once Yuri was standing before him. The snippet of a song he could only just remember played in the back of his mind, bright and full of anticipation. “Let’s do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo yo yo. 
> 
> Sorry this is so freaking late. I have had A Day (good news is though that a) I got my actual computer back and b)I think I passed the test I had Genetics this evening, which I honestly was not prepared to take at all, so those are both pluses). 
> 
> [Yuri and Patrick Extra for Chapter 14 here](https://batmads-ao3.tumblr.com/post/171152491631/yuripatrick-extra-chapter-14) I highly, highly recomend reading this one if you don't want to be hella confused later on.


	16. Chapter 16

A few hours later, Yuri waited for him as Victor finished locking up the building. 

“Thank you,” Yuri said as Victor turned away from the door. 

Victor shrugged. “My pleasure,” he said. 

“Really, though,” Victor added once they had taken a few steps down the drive leading up the entrance together. “ _ You _ need to teach _ me _ how you skate. Earlier—when I got here. That program you were skating. Yuri, I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

Yuri gaped at him, eyes wide. 

“Victor, it was one of  _ yours,”  _ he whispered. 

“Really?” Victor asked. He struggled to remember what program Yuri could possibly be talking about. The way Yuri had skated, it had been so different from anything Victor had ever seen or done before. It was unique. Special to Yuri, like a superpower. Whatever it had been, Victor wasn’t able to recognize the program because of it, not that he minded. Maybe Yuri would tell him, but he was more interested in how Yuri had taken something that had been Victor’s and made it his own. 

“Wow,” Victor said, still marveling at it. “Yuri, I couldn’t tell.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry?” Victor scoffed. “Yuri, don’t be sorry, be proud. What you did, well, I think it’s amazing.”

Yuri blushed and pulled his scarf tighter around his cheeks, probably to hide it, Victor thought. 

“You said that earlier,” Yuri said. 

“Well it’s true,” Victor replied. He bumped Yuri with his shoulder and grinned. To his surprise, and unending happiness, Yuri smiled back. 

“Do you want to get something to eat?” Victor asked suddenly. He had been skating for hours, and he hadn’t been able to sleep before that. He was cold. He was hungry. And he wasn’t ready for this night, and his time with Yuri, to be over just yet. 

Yuri just stared at him for a moment without saying anything, looking for all the world like if he had just watched Victor grow a second head. His brow began to furrow as Victor had often watched it do when Yuri started overthinking things. Victor’s heart began sinking in anticipation of the rejection he was coming. Maybe it really was time to go to bed, then. The rest of the world was sleeping; he should be too. 

“Um, sure?” Yuri said, like if it was still in doubt, like if he was still trying to discern Victor’s endgame in all of this. 

_ No endgame _ , Victor wanted to reassure him,  _ just food, and the opportunity to get to spend time with you.  _

But then Yuri nodded, his approval of Victor’s proposal clearly growing now that he had decided his course of action and determined there was no danger to be found here. 

“Food sounds good,” Yuri said. “Just—if you don’t mind my asking—where were you thinking of going?”

Victor shrugged. “I haven’t thought that far ahead yet, to be perfectly honest,” he said. 

Yuri paused for a moment and once again just started at Victor, as if to marvel at what a strange creature Victor was, and then tipped his head back and laughed. After the second Victor needed to process that Yuri was actually laughing, although not necessarily at him, Victor joined him. 

“Come on, Victor,” Yuri said, heading off again, laughter still coloring his words. “This is sure to be quite the adventure.”

Heart singing, and laughter still falling off of his lips as well, Victor followed him. 

OOO

After Victor’s assumption that Colonel’s would be open simply because he needed it to be proved to be incorrect, Yuri led him to a 50’s style diner just up the street. Victor hadn’t been cold in just his sweats, overcoat, and t-shirt when he had left his apartment earlier, but the winter air was starting to bite, and he followed Yuri inside happily. 

“This is Pulley’s,” Yuri said by way of explanation. “They’re pretty much open 24 hours. They have another location in Frye, the student center, and we go there a lot after hockey games, but now that we’re all living off campus…”

“You prefer Colonel’s?” Victor asked. 

Yuri nodded and leaned across the table to rest his head on his arms. Victor shifted to give him space. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. 

Again, Yuri nodded, but he did it now without lifting his head from his arms. 

“Just tired,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. 

Victor resisted the urge to reach out and stroke his fingers through Yuri’s hair. Instead, they sat together quietly; Victor contemplating the the pattern of the tiles, stretching away on the floor into infinity, the sparkly red plastic that covered all of the seats, Yuri oblivious to the parade of life around them. Three girls sat at the counter, eating fries and drinking soda, talking loudly over each other as they scrambled to finish an assignment.

A chirpy waitress came up to their table to take their order eventually. Without lifting his head or opening his eyes, Yuri asked for eggs and toast and a large hot chocolate. Victor ordered a grilled cheese and a milkshake. Not the healthiest, and if Yakov had known, he would have gotten an earful, but it was cold outside, and well past the middle of the night, and all Victor cared about at the moment was getting something to eat that would fill him up and taste good. 

When the waitress wandered off to give their orders to the kitchen, Victor turned back to Yuri. 

“Do you feel a little more ready?” he asked. 

Yuri’s eyes fluttered open and he glanced up at Victor before turning his attention back to some salt spilled across the table. He moved it around with his finger. 

“Right now?” Yuri asked. “I guess so. But tomorrow or sometime this week I’m going to be at practice or something’s going to come into my mind and I won’t feel so ready anymore.”

Victor propped his chin on his hand. “Anything I can do to help?”

Yuri jerked upright at the offer. “You...you want to?” he asked. “Help me, that is.”

“Of course!” Victor said, grinning. “You’re my friend, Yuri. Of course I want to help you be better.”

Yuri smiled. Just a little bit, but it was still a smile. Victor’s heart sang. 

“Thank you, Victor,” Yuri said. 

Victor nodded. The waitress came back with their food and they both dug in for a few minutes in silence. The fries, Victor found, weren’t really the typical American style, but more like frites, thin and crispy. In that moment, he could have sworn he had never been so blessed. They may have been the best things he had ever tasted. It was hard to tell. It may just have been the empty evening hour, distorting perception, but that’s how he felt. 

“If you want,” Victor said slowly, dipping some of his frites into his milkshake to test the taste, “I can keep working with you this week. Look over parts of your programs and help make them stronger. Help you with jumps and so such.”

Yuri choked on a piece of toast he’d been chewing on and Victor looked up in alarm as his companion struggled for a moment to breathe.

“You mean that?” Yuri asked through his hacking. 

Victor nodded numbly and started to rise. “Should I go get—”

Yuri waved his concern away as he managed to swallow his towats. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “You just surprised me. All week though Victor? Are you sure? Don’t you need to keep prepping for Worlds’?”

“Worlds is more than a month away,” Victor replied smoothly as he sunk back into his seat. “And I’ll be fine. I always am.”

Yuri smiled wryly at Victor’s words. “I wish I could be like that,” he said. “So certain that it would work out alright.”

“Well, I’ll be here to remind you of how good of a skater you are and help you out until you are,” Victor assured him. 

Yuri chuckled, but Victor frowned. He had been serious, after all. 

“I mean it, Yuri,” Victor said, leaning forward. He almost reached out to place his hand over Yuri’s but then he hesitated, wanting to act, to say more, but remembering, suddenly, the way that Yuri had shut him down at Skate America.  

“I mean it,” he just said again, weaker this time. 

Yuri picked up his fork and took a stab at his eggs. “Thank you,” he said. 

Victor leaned back in his seat again and looked back out across the diner once more. He felt awkward at the sudden reminder of Yuri’s sound rejection at Skate America. He liked to think that he and Yuri had gotten closer in the last few months but...had they really? it was just so hard to tell how things were with Yuri sometimes. One minute they could be talking and laughing like this, and the next, Yuri would shut him out completely, upset by something that Victor had said in blind ignorance. He picked up a frite again. Maybe he wasn’t really in love with Yuri. Maybe he was in love with an idea of a person, the Yuri that Victor wanted to be real. Maybe he was just a fool. More than maybe. He was  _ definitely _ a fool. A fool to be in love with a man who may not even exist, and a fool especially to be in love with a man that would never love him back,  _ could _ never love him back. 

“Victor,” Yuri said. 

And just like that, Victor was falling for him all over again. He looked up. 

“If you really meant what you said, about helping me, well, I—I appreciate the offer for help, and I’d like to take you up on it.”

“Are you sure?” Victor asked, breathless, once he had processed the full meaning of Yuri’s words. 

Yuri nodded. “You’d make a good coach, Victor. By any rate, you’re a pretty good teacher.”

Victor smiled, heart blooming at the praise. He had another frite. “Thank you,” he said. 

Yuri nodded again and turned back to his eggs.

“Fair warning,” Victor added, studying him. “I won’t go easy on you. I don’t even know how to go easy on myself. If you want to get better, you’ll have to work for it.”

Yuri chuckled, then grinned. Victor’s heart soared. 

“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” Yuri said. “Now do you want to head out? Not to be rude, but it’s like...3 am, and I have an 8:30 tomorrow morning. Today. You know what I mean.”

“Sure,” Victor said. He grabbed what was left of his frites—those beautiful, fantastic things—but left the shake. As good as it had been, it was cold outside, and it would have to be left behind. 

“If you have any more late nights,” Victor said, “call me and I’ll come over.”

Yuri nodded as they walked out the door, and then laughed. 

“What?” Victor asked. They started walking down the street together, the slap of their feet against the pavement sounding like a beating drum. 

“Nothing,” Yuri said. “It’s just—I have Victor Nikiforov on speed dial. So many skaters would kill to have that kind of opportunity.”

Victor smiled, but it felt superficial. “When you put it like that, I guess it is kind of funny.”

“Well, that,” Yuri said, still grinning, “and the fact that I know that Patrick would make a joke right now about your promise to answer my midnight booty calls for skating.”

At that, Victor did tip his head back and laugh, even if it stung. He could picture Patrick saying something like that. Chris probably would have made a similar comment, albeit with the typical Chris flare.

“My good friend just got together with his soulmate,” Victor said. He wasn’t sure why he was sharing this with Yuri, except that he had thought of Chris, and good news like this needed to be shared, and it was after midnight, late in the hour that secrets came to light. 

Yuri stumbled and Victor reached out a hand to steady him, but Yuri shrugged it off. 

“Really?” He asked. His voice seemed off, somehow, but Victor dismissed it to the cold and his almost-fall. 

“To tell the truth I’m a little jealous,” Victor admitted. “They’re perfect for each other. Just like you and Patrick.” 

“Oh.”

“I’ve never had that,” Victor continued. “Someone I just make sense with, soulmate or not. My friends back in Petersburg said that it was because I was married to the ice, that my soulmate was a pair of skates and an unused rink and a crowd waiting in anticipation of my performance.”

When Yuri stayed quiet, Victor forged on, having gone too far now to turn back.

“I’ve always wanted it though. That perfect relationship. Which is funny, since for as long as I can remember, it’s not until recently that I met people who actually had it. Yakov and Lilia, even when they were together, weren’t really...perfect. And my parents certainly weren’t either. Maybe...maybe it’s, I don’t know. I don’t know what I was trying to say. You probably think I’m being foolish.”

He glanced over at Yuri, whose attention was resolutely fixed on the ground. He felt like an idiot. Somehow, talking to Yuri like this, voicing the thoughts he barely allowed himself to think, left him feeling more exposed than he did every time he poured his soul out onto the ice. 

“Forget it,” he said after a few seconds of Yuri’s silence. “I don’t—”

“Nobody has a perfect relationship, Victor,” Yuri said softly. Victor’s breath caught and Yuri carried on, oblivious. 

“People are, well, they’re messy. Life is messy. And because of that, relationships are messy. If you’re looking for perfect, you’re never going to find it. It doesn’t exist. Looking for someone you make sense with though...that’s different. It’s not perfect so much as you looking at their mess and them looking at yours and neither of you flinching. It’s both of you saying ‘I don’t just tolerate your faults, I embrace them as an essential part of you, because you’re person that I love,’ you know? Making sense means loving all of someone, and you can’t love all of someone until they trust you entirely with who they are and you trust them entirely with who you are. 

“That’s why Patrick and I make sense. Because we trust each other with who we are and we don’t walk away when we’re not ‘perfect.’ That’s probably why your friend makes sense with his soulmate too; because they see each other for the people they are and they trust each other.” 

“And here I was thinking you hate soulmates,” Victor chuckled. 

“I don’t hate soulmates,” Yuri scoffed. “I just...it’s a stupid idea, that you’re ‘destined’ for someone. Anyways. I don’t know how we got on this. I think I have to turn up here.”

His heart panged at the thought of the approaching intersection and the fact that he and Yuri would soon have to part ways, but Victor smiled, and he looked over at Yuri sidelong. 

“If someone had asked me when I went to bed how I thought the evening would go, I would not have told them that it would start with me finding you at the rink and end with you giving me sage advice on love and relationships. Perhaps this is a dream, and I did manage to fall asleep after all.  _ That  _ would make far more sense than this.”

Yuri smiled too. “I does seem pretty unlikely when you put it like that.”

They reached the intersection that Yuri had designated as the place where they would part ways and Victor stopped. Yuri paused as well, looking at him curiously, waiting, Victor was certain, to see what dramatic, overly-philosophical nonsense he would spout next. For his part, Victor was more than happy to deliver it. He smiled again as he held out his hand. 

“Thank you for this dream, Yuri,” he said. “It’s been a pleasure sharing it with you.”

Yuri studied his face for a moment, searching, as always, for some answer that Victor didn’t know how to provide. At last, he nodded, satisfied, and something in Victor’s chest eased at the acceptance he found in Yuri’s eyes. Yuri’s fingers, when they wrapped around Victor’s, were cold, but they both squeezed tightly anyways. 

“I’ll see you at practice?” Yuri asked. 

“As surely as I shall soon wake,” Victor promised. 

Yuri chuckled and Victor let go. 

“Goodnight, Victor,” Yuri said as he turned to go. 

Victor laughed. “I think it’s ‘good morning’ now!” He called back. 

Yuri’s soft laugher carried to him on the breeze with the first hint of dawn as Victor watched his friend, his love, his fellow dreamer, stride away into the fading dark. Victor continued to watch him until the cold started to bite again and then he too turned to go. He felt lighter, somehow. Lighter than he had in years, although he knew that was probably false. The feeling probably wouldn’t last, it never did, after all, but he would hold onto it for as long as he could. A cello piece came to mind as he walked through the empty streets, one that his mother had used to play on long winter afternoons while they spent the Christmas holidays in Paris. It wrapped itself around him and sang through his thoughts until he was home. 

When he curled back into bed and fell asleep, Makkachin still snoring where Victor had left him hours ago, he dreamed of his mother and Montmartre and the famous steps stretching forever into the stars, and the soulmate that Victor was certain waited for him at the top. Dawn stretched her golden fingers through his windows and Makkachin stirred, but Victor dreamed on, content in his world of fancy. 

OOO 

“You were gone a long time,” Patrick mumbled as Yuri slid back into the room. 

Figured. Phichit could sleep like the dead and had probably never noticed when he had slipped off, despite sleeping right next to the front door, but Patrick? Stirred at the smallest motion. 

“Sorry,” Yuri said. he tugged off the sweats he had worn to the rink and tossed them into the laundry basket behind the door.

It was getting full. He’d have to take care of it soon. Today, maybe. He should have enough quarters stashed away. He tugged off his socks one by one and then his shirt. It was a cold night, but Patrick was a furnace. He’d be warmed up in minutes. 

“Gah, you’re freezing,” Patrick grumbled when Yuri finally slide into bed behind him. 

“Sorry,” Yuri murmured again. He pressed a kiss to the back of Patrick’s neck in apology and listened as his boyfriend half gasped, half sighed at the feeling. 

“How was skating?” Patrick asked after a minute, once he settled himself in Yuri’s arms, already forgiving and forgetting Yuri’s extended absence and the state of his return. 

“Fine,” Yuri said. He snuggled closer into the warmth, trying harder to drive off the winter chill that still seemed to cling to him. He couldn’t stop thinking about turning around and Victor just being there. Victor had been right; the entire evening had been like a dream, and more surreal than was warranted by reality. 

Patrick yawned and squirmed a little in Yuri’s arms again before going still once more. 

“Good,” he breathed. “Very good.”

In seconds, he was asleep, but Yuri lay awake still, tracing patterns on the back of Patrick’s hand, replaying everything that had happened that evening again and again in his mind. It was real. It had all happened, whether it felt like it or not. The stars had been there to watch it all unfold. 

His mind kept catching on little moments, when he had caught Victor for once unawares, not trying to be anybody, not trying to be the upbeat person he usually tried to present himself as around their friends. The way he had glanced up at the stars when he turned away from the rink door, after locking up. That had been an interesting moment. Like if he loved the stars as much as Yuri did. And other moments too. Like the bliss that had crossed his face when he had tried Pulley’s infamous fries for the first time. 

The way the golden streetlights had glinted on his silver hair, cast the long shadows of his eyelashes across his cheeks as they walked down the empty winter street together. 

Of all the things he was thinking, Yuri was trying hard not to think about how his heart might have caught at the sight, how beautiful he might of thought the sight has been. 

He should close his eyes and follow Patrick’s lead and go back to sleep. He should close his eyes and stop thinking about Victor and be happy here, to have Patrick in his arms. Everything he had ever wanted. This was supposed to be everything he had ever wanted, right? He had turned his back on that other path long ago. Patrick. Patrick was the one he loved, the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. 

Right?

His mind paused just before the threshold of dreams on that last conversation he and Victor had had. Victor’s mention of his friend...Yuri hadn’t breathed for a moment as he waited for the inevitable turn in the conversation. But it had never come. And he…he had said things, about him and Patrick, about their relationship, that he had never thought he would say to, well, anyone. 

Things had been...rough for him and Patrick after that fight, even after they had done their best to put it all behind them. There had been a moment in there when Yuri had honestly thought they were just going to say “screw it” and end it all. But he had meant what he had said to Victor tonight, about how loving someone, “making sense” with them was embracing all their messy pieces as well as the parts that were easy to love. It had been a reminder for him, more than a comment to Victor even. Patrick had been coming around more often, spending more time focused on Yuri, apologizing in his every action for how his words might have hurt Yuri. But If Yuri needed to reciprocate that. If he was going to love Patrick, then he needed to accept  _ all _ of who Patrick was, and that included the part of Patrick that wanted to meet his Soulmate someday, even if it was just to see what they were like. 

With a flash of surprise, Yuri realized the irony of the fact that he hadn’t been able to begin to forgive Patrick for all of it until tonight, until he had talked to Victor about what it meant to love somebody. And with that, he had challenged Victor too, in his own way, to stop being the person the world wanted him to be and start being the person he actually was. He wondered if Victor had even noticed. Probably not. 

His thoughts moved on. Yuri spiraled towards sleep, and he smiled. An unexpected evening, but not an unpleasant one. No facades. No pretending. Victor just being Victor and Yuri just being Yuri. And it had been nice. More than nice, really, but his mind didn’t stop to think about that as dreams, at last, overtook him.


	17. Chapter 17

Time, as always, slid by when Victor was least expecting it to. In the time they had before Four Continents, he worked with Yuri on the mornings when Yuri didn’t have classes three times a week. The other two days, they worked in the afternoons under Celestino’s supervision. Saturdays were more fluid. Victor worked individually from Yuri on his own programs to make sure they kept good form and then, usually when they broke for lunch, they discussed what parts of Yuri’s programs they could work on that afternoon, or in the coming days. Outside of the rink, the group continued to prescribe to their regular schedule. Fridays were movie nights. Wednesday was dinner at Colonel’s. Sundays had somehow ended up being an unofficial brunch day early in the fall, and it was something they had kept doing week after week. If they didn’t go out, they all headed to Theia’s, and she and Patrick stood shoulder-to-shoulder in her nook of a kitchen making pancakes to-order for everyone.

In the middle of all of it, Four Continents rolled around sooner than either he or Yuri realized, but he had helped Yuri prepare as much as he could and they couldn’t delay the inevitable forever. He went with Theia and Patrick to drop both Yuri and Phichit off at the airport, and for once, Yuri didn’t look petrified of the competition looming over him. He looked nervous, but also a little brave, in Victor’s mind. Like if he was finally, finally starting to figure out that he was more than capable of success. It was a sight that made Victor’s heart swell to see.

As always, a watch party was held in lieu of the regular movie night. Yuri made a few mistakes in his short program that left Victor cringing, but it was still a solid performance, and when all was said and done on Sunday, he had earned the silver medal they draped around his neck. As Victor scrolled through the commentary online afterwards, there were a few articles that voiced their surprise, but the majority shared Victor’s opinion: Yuri was finally starting to come out of his shell, Yuri was finally realizing his potential, Yuri would be someone to watch at the upcoming World Championships. And he would be. Victor would ensure that he would be. If he and Yuri could work out the last few kinks in those programs, Yuri might just make the podium. And wouldn’t that be something? A sweep of the Grand Prix, the European and World Championships for Victor, hopefully a new world record, a the love of his life on the podium besides him to celebrate it all too. His heart pounded in excitement every time he thought about it, and it left a smile on his face too.

The weather a few days after Yuri came home took a turn for the better, which only served to lift Victor’s spirits even higher. Yuri had texted him yesterday to say thank you, and on top of it he had offered to take Victor out to dinner sometime soon as a sort of official way to say it. Payment, essentially, which Victor had weakly assured Yuri wasn’t necessary, but Yuri had insisted. No concrete plans yet, but still. It was almost a date, and leagues ahead, friendship wise, from where he and Yuri had been just a few months ago.

Spring was in the air. He and Yuri were finally starting to get close. Things weren’t this perfect even in Victor’s dreams.

Today, he was sitting in Frye, the student center, transferring all the poems he had written recently on his phone into his notebook. Theia was on the couch besides him, marking up sheet music for a class. Last he had heard, Patrick had challenged them to do something with he and Yuri, as Patrick was prone to do, and the two of them were off somewhere but certain to be back soon. Once Yurio and Phichit got here, as they usually did after school let out, they’d probably all go to Graeme’s and get coffee, maybe ice cream since the day was so nice. It was a routine that Victor loved and was happy to prescribe to. He didn’t like being alone; he never had, and he was thankful for every day that he constantly had his friends with him.

“Have either of you seen Yuri?”

Theia actually jumped at Phichit’s sudden appearance. Victor looked up with a smile. For as talkative as he was, Phichit knew how to get around quietly when he wanted to, and surprising Theia was something everyone in the group enjoyed doing.

“Why are you looking for Yuri?” Theia asked. “Aren’t we good enough for you?”

Yurio wedged himself into the sliver of space between Victor and the arm of the couch and threw his feet into Victor’s lap. He pulled out his phone too, completing his favored aesthetic of the angsty, pre-teen out of cares to give.

“Phichit needs his help to study for math and says that you dinguses can’t cut it for him.”Yurio grumbled without looking up.

“Where did you learn that word?” Victor wondered aloud.

“It’s my weakest subject!” Phichit objected. “And I want to make the top of the honor roll this semester! That—that witch Alexandria Pihera is not getting in my way again!”

“Who’s she?” Victor and Theia asked together.

Phichit’s eyes narrowed. “My academic and theatrical rival. But I’m not letting her win this time. She may have taken the lead in the spring musical, but I’m taking this from her if it kills me.”

“I was not aware that Phichit was capable of a bad thought,” Victor muttered to Theia.

“I know--it’s like if I just saw the dark side of my favorite cinnamon roll ever; I don’t know how I feel about this.”

“Also, I need good grades if I want to come here,” Phichit said, shifting into his usual squinty smile. “Mesquakie only accepts the best you know.”

“You already know they’re going to accept you, you nerd,” Yurio snapped. “What are you even worrying about?”

“Mesquaki University is one of the best small liberal arts schools in the country! Great thinkers have gone here! Politicians! Writers!”

“And a solid handful of the best musicians of all time!” Theia added, half laughing.

“Exactly!” Phichit said. Somehow, he had ended up on the table. The view from below was startling, and reminiscent, somehow, of world leaders outlining their greatest plans.

“I’m going to be in the honors program, Yurio, and I’m going to meet the people and learn the skills I need to to make my dreams come true!”

“Bravo!” Theia cheered, clapping. Victor politely joined it. Yurio rolled his eyes.

“So do you know where he is, Theia?” Phichit pleaded, looking down at them.

“I think they went swimming, babe. Nice weather and all that. I don’t know for sure though. You know how Patrick and Yuri are. They show up. Patrick announces some ridiculous plan. Be there or be a moldy piece of toast—”

“Why is it always food?” Victor asked.

“—and whatnot. They exit, as if they were never here at all and we’re left staring at the place they were with intense confusion,” Theia finished. “And, Victor honey, it’s not always food, even if it seems like it is; I promise. But anyways, that’s not the point. Phichit, babe, if you want to walk over to the rec center to see if they’re there before we start dredging the lake, I’ll go with you.”

Phichit grinned, cheered up once more. “Do you want to come too, Victor?”

Victor eyed him warily, aware as he was now of Phichit’s “dark side.”

“Are you sure?” he asked after a moment.

Besides him, Theia was already packing up her sheet music. “Of course he’s sure,” she said simply.

“Come on; it’ll be an adventure!” Phichit said. “Also, we’ll probably go to Graeme’s afterwards, so…”

An enticing offer, to be sure, and one that Victor had been looking forward to someone making all afternoon. If he was lucky, the pastry chefs would have just made some of their strawberry cream croissants. And on a nice day, when he could pair one with a rose strawberry lemonade that Theia had been telling him about for months…

“Alright,” he said. He clicked his pen and shut up his notebook before sliding both into his back pocket. “Come along, Yurio.”

“Do I have to?”

Victor barely glanced down at where the younger boy had been swallowed by the crack in the couch cushions as he stood up. “Considering that we’re not coming back here, yes.”

Yurio glared up at him and Victor deigned to look down at him and stare steadily back. Their silent battle of wills lasted only seconds before Yurio heaved a heavy sigh and started pulling himself free from the couch.

“My name isn’t Yurio,” he snapped as they took off.

“Sorry,” Victor replied. “Habit.”

“Don’t lie, asshole,” Yurio muttered in return.

“Please don’t use language like that,” Victor said. He pulled open the door and held it for Theia and the others before he too stepped outside.

The barest breeze ruffled his hair and he paused for a moment on the top of the steps to enjoy it. Cool, but no longer cutting through the shirt he wore, no longer freezing. Warm sunshine, not yet sweltering, beat down on his shoulders. Theia sighed and Victor glanced over at her, curious about what had prompted the sound.

“It’s a beautiful day,” he commented, the unspoken question hovering beyond his words.

Theia shrugged and eyes the clear blue sky with a suspicion Victor thought was best reserved for spies, thieves, and the dark side of Phichit.

“It never lasts,” she said.

“What doesn’t?”

“Weather like this. It comes around every year. A week or so of perfect days. And then, right when you’re starting to think that it’ll stick and spring really is right around the corner, boom! We’re thrown right back into the worst of it.”

He chuckled. Together, they set off down the path along the lakefront towards the rec center.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you so cynical, Theia,” he said.

She scowled. “I’m not cynical. I’m just...I know how the weather works. I’ve seen this play out a million times before. Patrick never believes it, of course, but that’s Patrick. Even at his worst, he endeavors to believe the best.”

“Well, maybe there’s something to be said for foolish hope,” Victor said.

“Not in my experience,” Theia replied.

They walked in silence after that, Victor almost closing his eyes as he turned his face towards the water, and the breeze that came off of it. It wasn’t Petersburg, not by a long stretch, but he was starting to fall in love with how peaceful it could be here, and how beautiful, in it’s own way. When they reached the rec center, Theia held the door open and ushered them all inside. Victor, for his part, was astounded. He had been inside a handful of the university buildings since he had moved here; Frye, Rey Library, and Johansson, which was the performing arts center, and they had all been nice buildings, state of the art, really, even considering the university’s age. The rec center was no exception. As Theia led them towards the pool, Victor made a mental note to look into memberships for non-students here.

Yuri and Patrick were, as predicted, in the well-used recreational pool, tucked in a nook just out of the way of the lap pool. Windows stretched from floor to ceiling along the far wall, and at first glance, it seemed as though the pool was just an extension of the shining lake just outside. It was beautiful, not that any of the handful of students splashing about in the water seemed to notice, or care. Certainly not the two familiar heads in the far corner, who only seemed focused on each other.

“Hey dorks!” Theia shouted.

Those two heads, among several others, turned their way. Patrick smiled and lifted his arm out of the water to wave when he spotted them. Theia waved back, and then marched their posse around the pool to where Yuri and Patrick were bobbing about.

“Care to join?” Patrick asked once they arrived. “Or did you decide you’d rather be a singing crab stuffed with cheese and left in a scalding pot of water to cook?”

“I’ll cook today,” Theia replied smoothly. “And Sebastian got out of that nightmare scenario so I’d be shocked if you thought I wouldn’t either. Anyways, Phichit needed to find Yuri and we were bored so we decided to come looking for you two miscreants.”

“We were bored?” Victor asked.

“Miscreants?” Patrick asked at the same time.

“Don’t deny it,” Theia teased.

“I’m not denying it,” Patrick said. “I just, I don’t know. I guess I’d say we're prefer, what, babe?” He glanced over at where Yuri had sunk up to his chin in the water. “Buffons? Hooligans?”

“I like ‘hoodlums,’”Yuri supplied.

“Ooooo, that’s a good one. Theia, from now on, we’re hoodlums,” Patrick said. “Also, yes Victor you were bored because it’s a beautiful day and for some reason you two nerds were inside and while you may not realize that equals boredom, Theia does, and Theia is the one who makes the decisions in this group. Also, Theia, babe, do you know a good way to get un-bored?”

“Do you ever stop to breathe?” Victor asked.

“Yes,” Patrick said. He looked affronted, like if Victor had suggested that he was, in fact, a clodhopper instead of a hoodlum.

“Breathe more,” Victor advised. “And slow down.”

“Never,” Patrick grinned. “Anyways, Theia darling, the best way to get un-bored is to come swimming with Yuri and me.”

“Pass,” Theia said.

“Are you sure?” Patrick asked. “Marco Polo is very hard and less fun when only two people are playing, after all. Trust me, we know.”

“I’m not swimming with you, Patrick. Not when I’d just be third-wheeling.”

“Lame.”

“Not lame. Also, if it’s such a beautiful day, P, why aren’t you two in the lake? Is that not your prefered swimming local?”

Patrick narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re...mocking me, aren’t you?”

“While it is a beautiful day, Theia, we’re not nearly drunk enough for that,” Yuri said with a smile. Clearly, whatever they were referencing was something that Yuri saw far more humor in than Patrick.

“Yeah, Theia,” Patrick said, riffing off of Yuri. “If you want to see us naked, buy us a couple of drinks first, will you? And also, even if we wanted to go swimming in the lake like that, the best way to ruin a beautiful day like this is by getting arrested for public indecency. Catch us out there later, when it’s too dark to get caught.”

Theia chuckled. Victor did too, although it was more from the bizarre turn the conversation had taken than anything else. He glanced over at Yuri in time to see Yuri’s bright smile morph into the guarded expression that Victor hadn’t seen him wear in weeks. He tried, and failed, to catch Yuri’s eye in a quiet attempt to determine what was wrong and settled for observing Yuri instead. His dark hair was plastered to his skull and water was dripping off of his ear. He wasn’t wearing his glasses and it left him looking strangely vulnerable, and, Victor realized with a gentle flutter of his heart, incredibly beautiful.

“Theia mentioned you needed me, Phichit?” Yuri asked.

“Yes. I just need some help with math. Honor roll and ACT stuff, you know.”

Yuri nodded. “Can it wait until I get home?”

“Of course,” Phichit said. “I just wanted to find you to ask.”

“Sounds good,” Yuri replied.

“Right,” Patrick said, nodding vigorously and making little waves in the water with the movement, “now that that’s settled, were any of you actually planning on joining us, or…?”

“I think that’s a negative, babe,” Theia said. “None of us have our swimsuits.”

“Awesome,” Patrick said. “You guys going to Graeme’s after this?”

“Yep.”

“Cool. We’ll probably join you when we're done here. Maybe another hour or so. Until then,” he grabbed Yuri’s wrist to tug his boyfriend closer, turning him slightly, presumably to kiss him. “Please leave me and my beloved to splash around in peace.”

“Beloved?” Theia muttered, but she even as she rolled her eyes, she was smiling in that fond way of hers. Victor started to follow when he caught a flash of familiar black lines out of the corner of his eye. He paused to look more closely, heart pounding, hardly believing it was true, but there it was, there was...there was…

He stumbled and Yurio barked out a curse and a stream of Russian berating him for his clumsy stupidity. Victor mumbled out a reproach, but it felt like his ears were ringing. Patrick pulled away from Yuri to glance up at him and Yuri...Yuri glanced over his shoulder, the shoulder that had been exposed when Patrick had pulled him nearer, to look at Victor too. His mouth tightened into a thin, straight line.

“Victor?” Patrick asked.

“I’m fine,” Victor choked out. He forced himself to tear his eyes away from Yuri, to look at anything, anything, that wasn’t the image he saw there. They landed on Theia. She and the others were staring at him curiously. Everyone was.

“Water,” he hurried to explain. “I—I thought I was going to slip.”

Theia nodded, satisfied with his explanation, and turned once more to go. it was an effort to lift his feet and make himself follow her, to focus on her back and not what had been on Yuri’s, to act casually and betray nothing, but Victor managed it. He made himself breathe evenly, and plastered a bland smile on his face. The hardest thing to do, though, was to not look back, to not look back at the two men behind him, the two men in a _happy_ relationship behind him. Because those two men were his _friends_ , and he couldn’t ruin that. He wouldn’t dream of ruining that.

“Are you alright?” Theia asked when they stepped outside again. “You look a little peaky.”

“I’m fine,” Victor managed. “It’s just...the chlorine. It gives me a headache.”

Yurio stared at him like if he had just sprouted a second head. “Since when?” he asked.

“Since always,” Victor snapped. He sighed and rubbed at his temples. He hadn’t meant to be harsh with Yurio, but his head was swimming right now and he didn’t even know how to begin to handle the information he had been handed, let alone carry on with the others like if nothing had happened.

“Theia, I’m just going to go home,” He said. “I’m sorry, but—”

“It’s fine,” Theia said with a smile. “I totally understand. Take a Tylenol or something and lie down, take a nap. Text me later to let me know if you’re feeling better.”

He nodded, but his heart burned. Gentle, motherly Theia. Always accepting, always understanding, always looking out for everyone else’s well-being. What would she say if he told her what he had seen? What he had discovered? Would she comfort him? Understand his struggle? Pity him? He pushed the thoughts aside and forced his mouth to make a pathetic imitation of a smile.

“Thank you for understanding,” he said. Before they could hold him back, he tossed a quick goodbye over his shoulder and strode ahead of them. His stomach rolled and he paused for a moment to grab onto one of the tall trees that lined the jogging path leading off campus and around the lake as another wave of nausea hit him and he swayed.  He couldn’t get the image out of his head, the way Yuri had glanced at him over his shoulder and the…

Victor set off down the path again, as if to outwalk the nightmare. The campus fell away, replaced by a row of colorful houses that students rented and claimed as their own year after year. He hoped that Theia and the others wouldn’t come this way. He hoped that they would just follow the streets, or take one of the busses. He needed a still place where he could sit alone right now and sort everything out without having to worry about putting on a show for the others. And there was so very, very much to sort out. His thoughts, his feelings. Jumbled lines of poetry filled with nonsense words. All pointing back at what he had seen.

The path forked, one side heading towards a bridge and a lone island where he had once walked with Makkachin in the fall, while the other continued down the path besides the lake. He took the bridge towards the island and the little memorial park on it. He found a bench that looked out over the water in the long shadow of the monument commemorating some big happening or person or whatever and he sat. For a long time, he watched the waves come lap towards and away from the shore without really seeing them, willing his mind to fall into line. Eventually, he choked on a breath before it could become a tragic laugh or a heartbreaking sob and leaned forward to rest his head in his hands.

A scratch of black out of the corner of his eye as Patrick exposed Yuri’s back when he pulled him close to kiss him.

A tattoo. That’s what it had been. Such a simple thing, really. At any other time, in any other circumstance, insignificant. Lots of people had them, after all. Zarya had one spelling out “Моя Дарлинг,” my darling, in her grandmother’s handwriting over her heart. Georgi had said often enough over the years that he wanted one. Even Patrick had a pair, always flashing on his biceps when the sleeves of his t-shirts rode up.

But the tattoo on Yuri’s back, _Yuri’s_ tattoo, that could never be insignificant to Victor. It could never be “just another tattoo.”

Because it was his tattoo as well. The plain black lines of the Sagittarius constellation that had shown up on his back one summer night three years ago. And if Yuri had it, the same exact tattoo in the same exact place, it could only mean that the two of them were soulmates. It was one of the biggest tragedies of his life, trounced only by his mother’s death when he had been but a child.

Had Yuri known? Had that been why he had kept his distance after all this time? But no, that was impossible. Since receiving the tattoo, Victor had always kept it hidden, and the only person he had ever told about it was Chris. Chris wouldn’t have, couldn’t have, ever told Yuri about it. Not without Yuri showing his, and Chris would have told Victor about it. And besides the tattoo, as far as Victor could tell, there were no other marks. No other indicators of what he and Yuri were to each other. Yuri was still in the dark about all of this. That expression on his face today, that had merely been concern. And the cold shoulder he had constantly given Victor before, that had just been Yuri’s nerves. He was, after all, The Great Victor Nikiforov. Of course Yuri would have been intimidated until they got to know each other better.

Yuri was his soulmate, and Yuri had no idea.

He did laugh now, even as he felt the tears begin to stream down his face. How perfect was that. How absolutely, fucking perfect. It felt like some huge, cosmic betray from the universe. The man that Victor had waited his entire life to fall in love with didn’t believe in the soulmate bond. No, instead, Yuri was in a committed relationship. A relationship where he and his boyfriend talked about getting married, settling down, the white picket fence, two kids and a dog dream, sharing the rest of their lives together sort of dream. He and Yuri might be friends, and now soulmates, but nothing that Victor was to Yuri was never going to change much Yuri loved Patrick. Victor had finally found his soulmate, but he was a few years too late.

The worst part of it all though wasn’t that Victor was already in love with Yuri, or that Yuri was already in love with another man. No, the worst part of it was that, since spending more one-on-one time with Yuri in the last few weeks, he had finally started to understand Theia’s comment from their coffee date so long ago. All the things that he had thought had to be essential for his soulmate, when it came time to spending time with Yuri, they didn’t feel that important. Yuri might not know great poetry like Victor did, but he listened attentively whenever Victor talked about it with him. He asked questions. He endeavored to know more.

And Theia was right. He was a dreamer, just like Victor. He was one of the people who looked up at the stars night after night and _wished_ . Victor had watched him do it so many times now. Yuri might be a scientist who boxed the beauty of the stars up into cool calculations, but that didn’t stop him from loving them. If anything, Victor thought that Yuri’s knowledge of the stars made him love them _more._ His understanding inspired him to dream in ways that Victor could never imagine.

And that’s why Yuri had probably gotten the tattoo in the first place; not because he placed any real stock in astrology, but because it was _his_ sign. Something he had been able to attach meaning to in relationship to who he was, just like his name, or his nationality. Yuri, as Yuri so often did, had taken something that everyone else clambered over and made it unique to him. It was one of Victor’s favorite things about who Yuri was.

He hadn’t understood, before, who Yuri was, not really. He hadn’t understand how much his love could still grow as he learned more and more about the man who had become the object of his affections. Other people may come and go, but he would always be in love with Katsuki Yuri, his soulmate, his perfect match. And Yuri was always going to be in love with Patrick. It was heartbreaking, but it was the way things were, and Victor would have to find a way to move on if he didn’t want to be wallowing in this misery for the rest of his life. Just like always, he would somehow have to pick up the pieces of his life and move on. He would find someone else. An imperfect someone, perhaps even a string of them, but he would do it. He would find happiness, however superficial, in the arms of someone else. Even if he had to work at it day after day, he would find it.

Even if always there was a voice in the back of his mind wondering “what if, what if, what if.”

A strong breeze came, pushing the water back towards the shore and Victor’s bangs away from his eyes. Everyone had been so horrified when he had cut it, even if he had tried to soften the blow by donating it to charity. He had been happy though, so very, very happy to see it all gone. He was constantly reinventing himself, never holding still long enough for anyone to really know him. But then, he had chosen that lifestyle. He had craved it and enjoyed the air of mystery that it sometimes cast him in. In a world where everyone constantly seemed to clamber to know every detail about himself, he delighted in knowing that they would never see everything about him, and, more than anything else, he loved the little opportunities to upend everything they thought they knew about him. He liked being a surprise. It was a constant source of entertainment. Who was Victor Nikiforov? What a fun game to play. Some days, he wasn’t even sure he knew the answer.

All that had changed, of course, when he came here. Maybe it took a whirlwind to stop one, but from the first time he had seen Yuri and Patrick, he had realized that he wanted what they had, and had been envious of the two of them for parading it constantly in front of him. Especially as time went on and he had slowly but surely fallen in love with Yuri. That had been the final nail in the coffin. His fatal mistake. He could hope and pray for someone else, but there was never going to _be_ a someone else. Today had confirmed that. It was Yuri. It was always and only ever going to be Yuri.

He pulled out his phone and considered sending a text to Chris, just to let him know, but…

For all his sitting and staring morosely at the water, Victor didn’t even know what to do with this discovery, and he didn’t want to be throwing anyone else into the mix just yet. He knew he couldn’t tell Yuri...ever. For as awful as it was, he wasn’t petty enough to want to ruin what Yuri and Patrick had, and he didn’t want Yuri to think that he had any expectations or intentions otherwise. Yuri was in love with Patrick. Victor had accepted that weeks ago, and even if Yuri did leave Patrick for him, tried to pretend otherwise, it would just make them both miserable. He was alone in this, truly alone. Maybe, _maybe_ , he would tell Theia someday, if the solitude started to kill him, but she had no skin in this game. She knew he was in love with Yuri, but nothing else. Once he had sorted everything out, or if it became unavoidable, he’d tell Chris, but for now, it would be his secret to keep, his burden to bear.

A bird swept low over the water and Victor took a deep breath, then stood up. It would have been nice. It would have been really, really nice to be with Yuri, but he had learned years ago in a lesson spelled out in crumpled metal and shattered glass that life didn’t always go the way you wanted it to. Sometimes the happy ending wasn’t the one you dreamed of from the beginning, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t be happy with what you had. In the end, this revelation changed nothing. It was just another heartache he was going to have to live with.

The poem unfurled as gently as a flower as he walked. Sad, but resolved. He opened the notes instead of his texts and wrote it down. The sun tried to beat a warm circle between his shoulders, but he didn’t feel it.

_Afterwards, I pulled the pieces_   
_Of my life together once again and_   
_Carried on living._   
_Soon, it was like if it had_   
_Never been at all, as if_   
_It had always been just me_   
_Standing here beneath the stars_ _  
Alone in their light. _

The air seemed a little colder now, the bright sun a tad more distant. The cold weather that Theia had promised would return seemed closer now than it had less than an hour ago. He wanted to skate, needed to, more than anything else right now. He needed to lose himself in jumps and spins and the perfectly planned choreography of his programs. He quickened his pace as the plan formed in his mind. He would head home, change, make sure he had his poetry book and wallet, then he would go skating and after that, well, after that he had a future yawning ahead of him and countless ways to spend it. He needed to spend some time away from Yuri and Patrick and the rest of them, that was for certain, though. He needed more time to brace his heart before he saw Yuri again, and more time to seal his lips before he saw Theia and the others, if only to stop himself from screaming under the weight of this secret. And, more than anything else, he needed time to remember once more how to stand in a room full of people and still be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cackles* 
> 
> So a few fun facts about this chapter:  
> 1) The pool scene was one of the first scenes I ever came up with for this fic.  
> 2) I wrote the first draft of this chapter by hand during my job this summer when I didn't have any work to do. It was 10 pages in my notebook and I wasn't actually certain that it would be long enough to be a chapter. Boy, was I wrong.  
> 3) Sharing this makes me feel wonderfully devious and I love it.


	18. Chapter 18

Victor surfaced from his self-imposed exile only to celebrate Yurio’s birthday with the group a few days later. Per Yurio’s request, Theia had found a fairly decent Russian restaurant nearby and they all went together in the mom-mobile. Victor spent the evening with a false smile plastered to his face and his attention fixed to Yurio. He ignored Theia’s attempts to catch his eye and pretended he didn’t notice the strange looks that Yuri gave him when no one was looking. He ate pirozhki. He sang happy birthday. He cooed with everyone else over the presents that Yurio tore the wrapping paper away from. He ate cake. He gave no sign of the agony raging in his heart. He gave no sign that anything had ever changed in him at all. 

He was happy when the night was over and he was returned to Makkachin and his empty apartment once more, happy when he was allowed to stop pretending that everything was fine when it never would be again. He had broken down a lot since he had found out, often in random places and at random times, whenever it all hit him again. Thankfully, he hadn’t been discovered, even when he had been in public places, like the rink, or out walking Makka. He didn’t know how he would have been able to explain the outbursts to a stranger, or worse, one of his “friends.”

If Theia thought his continued absence was at all strange, she didn’t comment on it, or take the time to ask him where he’d been. In a strange way, he was as disappointed as he was relieved. He didn’t know what he would have told her if she had asked what was wrong. Not the truth, when he could barely bear it himself. But he wanted her to ask. He wanted her to be her usual motherly self and to worry about him in a way that nobody else usually ever did. 

He spent the next few days dodging group hangouts. He rearranged the times he went to the rink so that he would never run into Yuri and Phichit. He sat at the most hidden table he could find whenever he went to Graeme’s to write, assuming he stayed there at all, and ducked out the back door by the kitchen the moment he thought he caught a glimpse of Patrick’s face, or Theia’s, or Yuri’s. The only reason why he didn’t mute the group chat was so that he could keep track of their movements, and avoid them. 

He knew he wasn’t being fair. It wasn’t their fault that Yuri was his soulmate and therefore a person he couldn’t bear to be around. For that matter, it wasn’t Yuri’s fault either. It was just easier for him, Victor, to keep his distance now that he knew the truth. He hated how much he needed the distance, even as he was thankful that they let him fade away with barely a fight.

In Russia, he and Zarya and Georgi had been friendly, but it hadn’t been until he came here that he had realized that they hadn’t really be friends, hadn’t really been a family. Zarya might be scandalized that Georgi wasn’t dating his soulmate, but she would never try to meet the girl, or learn why she made Georgi so happy. Hell, Victor hadn’t even known that Mila was Zarya’s sister until he had seen their last names together on the schedule. At the end of the day, none of them really cared about each other the way that Theia and Patrick and Yuri and Phichit did. They didn’t share their lives, and Victor had loved getting to share his with them. 

But he didn’t stop avoiding them. He made an excuse to miss dinner at Colonel’s that Wednesday. The weather turned as foul as his mood and he reveled in it. It felt real in a way that a week of perfect spring days no longer did. Snow, sleet, rain; it all pounded down around them, and Victor welcomed it with a dark sort of joy. He didn’t bring an umbrella with him when he went to the rink to practice and paused at street corners at the barest suggestion that a car was coming to let it all soak into his skin. 

Or at least, that was what he was doing until an umbrella popped over him. 

“Your should probably get out of the rain,” Yuri said. “You’ll get sick.”

Victor blinked at him in surprise. It was like something out of a dream, or a fairytale, to have Yuri just appear next to him in the rain with an umbrella. 

It quickly turned into the nightmare of a horror story at the recollection that Yuri was his soulmate, and Yuri was in love with someone else. 

“I don’t mind it,” Victor said. 

“But you could get sick,” Yuri prompted again. The intersection cleared up and Victor started walking in hopes that Yuri wouldn’t follow, but he did. Of course he did. As far as Yuri knew, nothing was wrong. 

“I don’t mind,” Victor said again. 

“But Worlds are soon.”

“It’ll be fine.”

He needed somewhere else to go, somewhere that was very distinctly  _ not  _ where Yuri was going. The problem was, however, he didn’t know  _ where _ Yuri could be headed. He glanced about, trying to think. Would Yuri follow him if he said he was popping into the stationary store? Or would he follow along, as the group so often did when they were all together?

“Victor, have you been avoiding us?” 

The question came out of nowhere. Victor stumbled into a puddle in surprise before he glanced up at Yuri. He forced himself to form a cheerful smile with his lips, to make his eyes squint as they always did in his best photos. 

“Why would you think that, Yuri?”

“Because you’ve been avoiding us.”

Well then. How to refute that, what to say that would throw the far too observant Yuri of his trail?

“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” Yuri continued before Victor could say something. “Because of the tattoo?”

Now, Victor stopped, and his heart did too. 

“What?” he asked. 

Yuri looked about quickly, for what, or for whom, Victor had no idea. It was practically pouring. No one else in their right mind was on the street with them, but Yuri grabbed his arm nonetheless and dragged Victor into a nearby shop. Victor didn’t even pause to take notice of what the curving cursive letters across the door spelled out; all of his attention was fixed on the press of Yuri’s fingers wrapped around his elbow. 

“I know,” Yuri said simply, once they were inside, “what we are. It’s a long story, but, I know.”

Victor stared at him dumbfounded for a moment before he felt the rage start to rise in his chest. 

“You knew?” he hissed. 

Yuri stepped back a step, biting his lip and looking pale, but holding Victor’s gaze nevertheless. He nodded. 

“You knew all along and you didn’t think to tell me?” Victor said. 

Yuri glanced about, then blushed deeply. “Victor…” he muttered. 

“No, don’t ‘Victor’ me, Yuri! Don’t you think I had—”

“Can I help you two gentlemen?”

Victor glanced over at the shopgirl in shock. Her hair was tied back into a perfect ponytail. She was wearing a neat black apron. A tape measure was draped around her neck. 

“We’re fine,” Yuri stuttered. 

She glanced between both of them, smile never wavering. 

“Alright, just let me know if you change your minds! We have a great selection of candy—”

“We’re fine,” Yuri squeaked, voice cracking. He grabbed Victor’s arm again. “I think we’re just going to look over here.”

The girl nodded. “Changing rooms are in the back if you need them.”

She walked off, and Victor allowed Yuri to drag him further back into the store. He didn’t stop to look at the merchandise lining the shelves. All of his attention was fixed on Yuri, and the bombshell he had just dropped. 

“Don’t you think I had a right to know?” Victor said again as they walked, lower this time. 

Yuri stopped but didn’t look up at him. “I don’t know, Victor. I’m sorry. I just...I never thought I’d actually, you know, meet you.”

“I’ve been here for months,” Victor snapped. 

“And what, did you just want me to tell you on day one?” Yuri zipped back. “Hi, I’m Yuri. I’m your soulmate. Also, have you met my boyfriend, Patrick?”

“Fine,” Victor conceded. “But what about since then? Skate America? The Grand Prix? Hell, Yuri, what about all that time before Four Continents?”

Yuri looked away, almost as if he was ashamed, and he was quiet for a long time as he gathered his thoughts. Victor leaned back, giving him space to think, but crossed his arms, if only so his frustration could be known. 

“I thought...at Skate America I thought you knew,” Yuri said at last, “but then time went by, and I realized you probably didn’t and I just...I didn’t know how to tell you. It wouldn’t have made any difference. I don’t know. I guess a part of me was also just hoping, I don’t know, that you’d meet someone else, like I did. That you’d settle.”

“I don’t want to settle,” Victor said quietly. 

“I know,” Yuri sighed, “but I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“How long have you known?” Victor asked. “Was it just since I got here, or did you know before then?”

“Victor…” Yuri started. 

“Please, Yuri,” Victor begged. “Help me understand this. I know the truth now, do you have to keep even more from me?”

Yuri sighed and reach back to card his fingers through the back of his hair as he thought about it. It was a heart-achingly familiar gesture, one that Victor had come to adore in the time that he had known Yuri, but he didn’t turn away. He didn’t let his pain be an easy excuse for Yuri not to continue. 

“I met Patrick when I was eighteen,” Yuri started. “I had just moved here, I didn’t know anybody outside from a few older skaters at the rink, and it felt like everyone spoke too fast, even though I know they didn’t. It was hard, and I was homesick all the time. I wanted my dog. I wanted one of my mom’s hugs. I questioned my decision to come here a lot. 

“The first day of orientation, I don’t know what it was, I don’t remember what happened, but it all came crashing down on me. I was  _ stuck _ here. For at least the next four years. I was barely going to get home, and although I kinda liked it here, it also wasn’t home, you know? These people had a different culture. I wasn’t sure I would make any friends, or fit in, or even that, in the long run, I would like it here, much less be happy here. Basically, what happened was that it caused me to have an anxiety attack, and I went and hid in the bathroom. It was a bad one; I was bawling my eyes out before too long, and then, next thing I know, one of the stall doors opens and this guy sits down next to me.”

Victor’s breath caught. He’d heard the overview of the story enough times, but never from Yuri. 

“It was Patrick, of course,” Yuri said. “He didn’t ask why I was crying in the bathroom alone or what was wrong. None of that. He just started talking about his grandpa, of all people, and where they lived, and his mom. He completely opened up to me, a stranger, because he thought it would help calm me down. And it did. It worked. After a few minutes I stopped crying and just rested my head on my knees and listened to him as he talked. It was so...calming. Just to listen to him talk about his attic bedroom and his goldfish named Phil and the way his grandpa talked with an Irish brogue.

“After that, we were friends. Allies, in the very least, against a strange new world we weren’t sure we wanted to be a part of. Patrick invited me to come to the lakehouse he and his grandpa had on Lake Michigan that summer and I accepted. We went swimming every day. We stayed out late watching the stars. Patrick told me about his favorite runner, Steve Prefontaine, and how he wanted one to get one of Pre’s quotes tattooed on his arm as a little reminder, but how he was too afraid of the pain. So I said I’d go with him. 

“Tattoos have a bad connotation in Japan. Gang type stuff, pretty much. But I had always been sort of fascinated with them. When I was younger, a couple visited the onsen. They were soulmates, and they both had the same tattoo because of it. I could barely comprehend it, but I loved that they had been able to find each other because of this little ink design on their skin. That’s why I told Patrick I’d get a tattoo with him. Because one day, I wanted my soulmate to be able to find me by that mark.”

Now, Victor closed his eyes. It was too much. He didn’t want to hear this story anymore. He didn’t want to hear Yuri’s carefully reasoning behind why they could not be together. 

“So I got the tattoo, and, well, Patrick and I got closer. School started. He asked me to join the GSA with him and I did. We were so different, but...I loved spending time with him, and he loved spending time with me. I liked listening to him talk about running, and about music, and how awesome he thought the mechanics of the human body were. He was so feverishly in love with being alive, and just being with him… it left me feeling dizzy.

“More than that, though, he was good at dealing with me. He was good at helping me through anxiety attacks, and sitting quietly with me when I needed that. Thinking about him put a smile on my face,” Yuri said, smiling to himself. “It still does. And being with him, it was something like freedom exploding in my heart. We made sense. It took me a while to realize that, but when I did, I also realized that I was kind of in love with him. And at first I didn’t know what to do with that, but then I plucked up the courage and asked him out and then the next thing I knew we were dating.

“And then…worlds. It was the first time I had ever qualified and I was equal parts terrified and excited. You were there, of course. You’re always there. But this...this was the first time I had ever seen you in person. I was texting Patrick, it was before the competition started, and he had talked me into going up to you and asking for a photo, so I was waiting to do that, but then...you have a scar,” Yuri said, “or we do, right here.” 

He ran his finger along the ridge of his cheek. Victor’s throat closed up. He had forgotten about that scar. It had faded with time to a pale white line, and his eyes bounced over it now whenever he looked at himself in the mirror.

“My mother was in a car accident when I was twelve,” he said. “I was in the seat next to her.”

Yuri just nodded. “But I saw that...and I knew. And I couldn’t just walk up to you and say that, because you never would have believed it, so I just...walked away. Even if I had said something to you then, though, I don’t know what we would have done. Even then, I knew that I wouldn’t have left Patrick to be with you. I knew Patrick. I loved him. You were just...not even a stranger, or a person, but the suggestion of a person, someone I still couldn’t entirely believe was real, I had admired you for that long. How could  _ you  _ be  _ my  _ soulmate? So I told myself that I was mistaken, even though I knew I wasn’t, and just hoped that I would never actually meet you and have to explain everything. Guess we can both see how well that worked out.”

Victor sighed. How could he blame Yuri after all that? He could see Yuri’s point, had reached the same conclusion about Yuri’s feelings towards Patrick the day he had found out what they were. But it still stung. It still cut deeper than anything else that Yuri had known and decided to keep that information from Victor. 

“Are you still mad?” Yuri asked. He was leaning forward now, trying to get a glimpse of Victor’s eyes beneath his bangs. 

“No,” Victor said quickly. “No, I’m just…”

Frustrated. Heart-broken. Bitter. Jealous. So many different things. But he meant it though. He wasn’t truly mad. He didn’t think he was capable of getting and staying mad at Yuri, his soulmate, his one true love. 

Yuri’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry,” he said again. 

“It’s not your fault,” Victor said.

Because it wasn’t, not entirely. Yuri hadn’t even known Victor as a person when he had fallen in love with Patrick. And his telling Victor when he had first found out would have been meaningless. Just the confession of some random stranger that was not romantically available and seemingly had no interest in getting to know him. It was just some cruel twist of fate, because that was how things worked sometimes. Sometimes fathers were absent. Sometimes people drove through intersections without thinking that a mother and her son were already in them. The world was filled with little tragedies. He couldn’t get upset about all of them. 

For the first time, Victor looked up and around at the merchandise in the shop, trying desperately to get his mind off of the heartbreak standing in front of him. He frowned. 

“Are we in a lingerie shop?” 

Yuri blushed to his ears. “You didn’t _ notice _ ?”

Victor shot him a petulant gaze. “I was more caught up in the bombshell you just dropped on me, thank you very much.”

Yuri groaned and buried his face in his hands. Victor reached over to finger one of the thongs laid out on the counter next to them. He had never been one for cross dressing, but it was nice; pale pink silk bottom, ivory lace trim. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re actually thinking of buying that,” Yuri said. 

Victor glanced up to see the other man staring at him in blatant horror. 

“So what if I am?” Victor said, feeling a little defensive. “It’s nice. I like it.”

“What will the people here think?” 

Victor picked up the thong. He honestly wasn’t mad at Yuri for smashing his dreams, but he was still upset, and scandalizing Yuri seemed like just the pick-me-up he needed. 

“Oh, they definitely think we’re gay,” Victor said, “and they probably also think we have exotic tastes.”

The corner of his lip twerked up in a half smile as Yuri turned away with a muffled scream. Victor looked over at him pointedly. 

_ “I’m _ not the one who strips in public and pole dances once a year,” he pointed out. 

“That’s for charity!” Yuri objected. 

“Still,” Victor said. He turned back to his thong. “You know, I really think I’m going to get this.”

“Please don’t,” Yuri pleaded. 

Victor glanced back down at the counter. “But do they have it in blue, do you think? That would match my eyes better.”

Yuri whimpered. Victor glanced down at the table. Options. He had options here. All black, blue with white lace, blue with black lace. There was only one thing to do. He pulled out his phone and waited after pulling up the number for it to connect. 

“Ya,” Chris said. 

“I need help,” Victor said, looking down at the counter. 

“Are you seriously _ calling someone right now??? _ ” Yuri hissed. 

Victor held up a finger to make him wait. 

“What do you need?” Chris asked. 

“So I’m at a lingerie shop,” Victor said. 

“GET EDIBLE UNDERWEAR!” Chris replied immediately. 

Yuri let out a strangled gasp. 

“Excellent advice,” Victor agreed, “but I have no one to eat it off me.”

He made sure he looked Yuri in the eyes when he said that. Yuri whimpered. 

“I’m looking at thongs,” Victor said. 

“Honey, get a G-string. It’s the only way to go”

Victor glanced around. “Where are they?”

“Ask a sales associate.”

“Good idea,” Victor glanced around until he saw the girl from earlier and flagged her down. She bounced over with a smile. 

“Changed your mind?” She asked. 

“Yes, I’m looking for a G-string,” Victor said. “Preferably blue? Or black? I don’t know.”

“Well, you could always do both, we have a wide selection” she said. 

“Amazing,” Victor replied. 

On the phone, Chris was cheering. Behind him, Yuri may have been dying. Victor didn’t care. This was the most fun he’d had in weeks. 

“Well, these are our thongs,” The girl said, “but if you’ll follow me right over here…”

Victor only paused to reach behind him and grab Yuri’s wrist before he followed her. Yuri’s eyes were as wide as saucers. He shook his head desperately, but Victor ignored him. 

“So how’s Stéphane?” He asked Chris. 

“Divine,” Chris sighed. “I may have to go shopping for something fun myself though, now that you have my mind on it.”

“So here are our G-strings,” the girl said. “Will you need anything else today?”

Victor considered. As much fun as it would be to have her help him pick something out in front of Yuri...

“Facetime me,” Chris said in his ear. “I want to see what they have.”

“I’m should be good,” Victor said with a smile, “but I’ll let you know if we have a problem.”

“ _ We?”  _ Chris gasped.

The girl smiled in return and glanced over at Yuri. Victor pulled his phone away from his ear to switch to facetime before responding.

“You two take your time,” she said, “we have couples like you come in here looking to spice things up in the bedroom all the time.”

Yuri groaned again as she walked away. 

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Yuri said. 

Victor smiled wickedly as Chris’ face appeared on the screen. 

“So I was thinking blue at first,” he said. 

“That would look great with your eyes,” Chris agreed, nodding thoughtfully. 

“But black has a nice, sexy feel to it, you know?”

“Also true,” Chris said. 

“So I was hoping for both.”

“Well, what do they have?”

Victor switched the camera angle around so Chris could see the display. 

“That one looks sexy,” Chris said once he’d given them all a good once over. 

“Which?”

“Black ones,” Chris replied. “Lacy. Blue ribbon trim.”

Victor found the piece Chris was referring to and picked it up. It  _ was _ sexy. All black lace with the trim done in a neat blue ribbon, the exact color of his eyes. There was even a little blue bow in the front. 

“What do you think?” Victor asked, looking over at Yuri, who choked at the question. 

“Why are you asking  _ me?” _ Yuri asked. 

“Who are you with?” Chris demanded. “You still haven’t told me who you’re with!”

“Yuri,” Victor said, glancing down at him. “Long story. I’ll explain later.”

Chris’ brows shot up. “Please do.”

“Well, do you think it’s nice?” Victor asked, turning back to Yuri. 

“I honestly have no opinion,” Yuri said. “Just...buy something and be done with it.”

“Yuri, that’s not a good bedroom attitude,” Chris chimed in. 

Yuri moaned. 

“That, however,” Chris said in response, “that is a good bedroom attitude. Victor, I think you can take that as a ‘yes.’”

Victor smirked. “I think so too.”

He dragged Yuri along as he paid and said a sweet ‘thank you’ to the shop girl’s suggestion that they ‘enjoy their purchase’ and ‘have a fun together.’ Yuri was visibly shaking as he popped they walked back onto the street and he popped his umbrella open. 

“I’m going home,” he said dully. 

“What, you’re not going to walk me home?” Victor asked. He had long since hung up with Chris, but laughter still colored his every word. 

Yuri glared at him. “No,” he said firmly. 

He turned and started walking away. Victor reached out and grabbed his elbow before he could get too far. 

“But what if I get sick?” Victor asked, teasing, flirting, testing Yuri’s limits. 

Yuri’s eyes were humorless. 

“Then maybe you should start carrying an umbrella.”

He tugged himself free from Victor’s grip and once more turned away. Victor sighed. He didn’t know what he would have done even if he had managed to get Yuri back to his place. Teased him, maybe, by trying the damn thing they had bought together on, but his heart wasn’t in the thought. 

He glanced up at the skies, feeling slightly betrayed that they were bothering to continue to rain on him when he no longer welcomed the sensation. When he looked back to where he had last seen Yuri’s retreating back, the other man was gone. Too far. He had pushed too far. Yuri had offered him an olive branch and Victor had basically whacked him upside the head with it. But maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was better if Yuri hated him. It was better than the constant stream of ‘I’m sorries’ anyways. With a deep breath, Victor turned his collar up to the wind and started trudging his way back home. His exile was over. Worlds were in a month. He had a lot to do, a lot to take care of, between now and then, and he couldn’t continue to wait around moping. Now was the time to get serious. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Easily one of my and Muse's favorite chapters. Hope you all enjoyed it!


	19. Chapter 19

The weather improved in the coming days, but only briefly before sliding back into icy hell. Winter, it seemed, was still holding on for all it was worth. Victor didn’t care. Every free moment was spent at the rink, or working out, or listening to his program music and mentally reviewing every move in his head. He started hanging out with the others again. Theia asked him if he had been alright, said that she had been worried, but he waived it all away. What he and Yuri were...that was between them. The others didn’t need to know, especially since he and Yuri had somehow reached the agreement that this bond was nothing.

Yuri, for his part, did not go back to his old ways of ignoring Victor, but the tentative friendship they had established over late night shakes and skating and endless hours spent together, helping one another, was gone. Yuri was polite, and listened when Victor spoke, but there was a uncrossable line between them now, and Victor knew that he had put it there.

He tried on his G-string once. It felt strange to wear it, but nice too. He certainly looked good in it, and there were nights when he woke up panting, blankets pushed away because even in the dead of winter, it was too hot, and his skin felt to tight…

He pushed away the remnants of those dreams before they could rise any farther. He knew what they were about, and he knew it wouldn’t do him any good to dwell on them any further.

His poetry was tight and succinct, broken up into lines like soldiers marching across a battlefield.

_In my head, I_  
_Remember being a fearsome_  
_Creature, warrior, fighter_  
_But in my heart I_  
_Know I was just a_ _  
Drifter, loner, dreamer._

And then, somehow, it was Worlds. Eight months. He had been here for eight months. The routine was familiar. Theia drove them all to the airport. They hugged each other goodbye. And then they got on the plane, speeding, for once, not across the globe, but just a hop away. Boston. Close enough that it barely seemed significant, far enough that Theia and Patrick couldn’t be with them. There was a shuttle at the airport waiting to take them to the hotel. Phichit excitedly pointed out all the significant landmarks they were passing while Victor tried to ignore the fact that he had been pushed too closely against Yuri.

They all had rooms next to each other, something that caused Phichit to squeal in excitement. Yuri stayed quiet though, and barely replied to Phichit’s demand that they go out sightseeing once they were both unpacked. For his part, Celestino took things, as always, in stride, and advised them to meet downstairs later that evening so they could get dinner together. Victor just nodded. It was almost a relief to feel the silence slip around him as his door clicked shut.

He unpacked quickly, keeping an eye on his phone in case any texts from Chris, or Zarya, or Georgi came in. They didn’t, but Victor wasn’t surprised. His flight had been maybe two hours, travel time total somewhere in the neighborhood of three or four. They were coming from Europe though. Their flights would have taken nearly the whole day. They went out to dinner at a nice place down the street. Phichit took pictures of everything. Yuri had his phone out under the table, and if Victor had to guess, he was engrossed in texting Patrick. Celestino, too good-natured to tell either to cease, or to truly care, carried on about his hopes for each of them that week and chatted happily with Victor when Phichit and Yuri failed to respond.

Official practice came the next day. And the day after that. Phichit wanted to go sightseeing, so Victor went with him whenever they were free. In the back of his mind the tantalizing glory that was promised if he won gold here sang to him endlessly. The beat of a song he couldn’t remember pounded with every step. He ghosted through the moves of his program to alleviate the feeling, even through the music in his mind. He saw Chris and Stéphane and went out to dinner with them one night. He didn’t tell Chris about Yuri’s confession. He didn’t know how, and he didn’t want to, either, though he couldn’t say exactly why. He watched the two of them though, and kept his thoughts geared towards victory that week so they couldn’t turn towards sorrow.

Wednesday was the short program. He crushed it, faking at passion that he didn’t feel. His mind, while focused on the artistry and technical elements, was also slowly becoming more interested in what was next. He was ready for the next season to begin. To get this over with, to make history and win gold, and then do it all again.

Thursday was an off day. He watched Zarya perform, got a late lunch/early dinner with her and Georgi afterwards, and called Theia with Yuri and Phichit that evening. Everyone was So Proud.

That night, Victor dreamed of winning gold, the G-string, and a certain someone also, unfortunately, made an appearance. He went walking until the early morning hours to clear his head, grabbed a croissant from a nearby bakery, then slept until Celestino woke him up so he could eat before the evening free skate started. He was exhausted and energized all at the same time. He was powered by an untouchable force, a certain magic that only he could possess. It was the kind of magic that he knew from experience won crowds and judges alike to his favor.

Yuri went before him and it was...breathtaking. Really breathtaking, but not enough. If all went well tonight, Yuri would win a bronze, better than he had done before, but there was still work to be done. Phichit earlier had been decent, but still lacked the experience and the quiet confidence of the older skaters. In coming years, he could be a force to be reckoned with, but not yet. Not yet.

Chris winked at him before Victor took to the ice. Chris too, knew how this was going to play out. It had been gold for Victor at Worlds last year and it was going to be gold this year again. Chris had put in a good effort, but he would take silver and he knew it. Next year, that wink said. He’d be coming for Victor’s place on the podium again next year. The music started, and a second in, with a single movement, Victor had the audience wrapped around his finger. Four and a half minutes later, he finished, and he knew before he ever looked at the scores what they would be.

A world record. Another gold medal. Strange, he had made history, but it was already starting to feel...old hat. It wasn’t really what he wanted, though. What he really wanted was always going to be just beyond his reach, claimed before he had ever known it was something he wanted.

Chris wanted to go out that night, but Victor turned him down. Going out felt...empty. Fake. And attempting to pretend otherwise just felt...exhausting. Especially since it looked like Phichit might be able to convince Yuri to go out with the group. How Phichit was planning on getting into the clubs at the ripe age of sixteen, Victor had no idea, but it wasn’t a conundrum he was overly inclined to hear the answer to. At least, not until a knock came pounding on his door hours later.

Of all the people he expected to find outside his door at midnight, Phichit was not one of them.

“Victor,” he panted. “You have to come quick!”

Victor just stared at Phichit for a moment, uncomprehending.

“Phichit?” he asked.

“I need your help!” Phichit said.

Really, for this time of night, his voice was far too loud. Whatever had gotten him into this ruckus, Victor wanted no part of. He started to close the door again.

“Please, Phichit,” he said. “It’s the middle of the night. Can’t it wait another few hours?”

Phichit stuck his foot in the way of the door and physically pulled Victor into the hallway. His door clicked shut behind him and Victor’s heart lurched at the sudden realization that his hotel key was still inside.

“Yuri’s drunk!” Phichit explained as he dragged Victor down the hallway. “The bouncers figured out that I’m underage and kicked me out so I can’t get back in to help him!”

A stream of curses was the only comprehensible thing running through Victor’s mind, but he forced himself to think.

“Where’s Chris?” he asked.

Phichit shrugged. The reached the elevator and Victor watched his friend slam on the button several times until the elevator at last opened.

“We got separated,” Phichit said. “There are a lot of clubs in this place. We started in one and then Chris said he wanted to go to another, I think and now…”

He trailed off and shot Victor a guilty look.

“I’m sorry I have to pull you into all of this,” he said, “but I didn’t want to involve Ciao Ciao and Yuri drunk is...bad.”

“How bad?” Victor asked.

Phichit, unswayable if easily excited Phichit, blushed up to his ears.

“I’ve only ever heard stories,” he whispered.

The elevator binged opened and next thing Victor knew, Phichit was tugging him outside. He stood by as the younger boy looked desperately for a taxi, and then, unable to find one, grabbed Victor’s arm again and set off at a sprint down the street. Victor, resigned to his role in this, kept up until, a few blocks later, they reached the place.

For someone with Chris’ interest in clubs, it was surprisingly nondescript on the outside. In fact, it appeared to be a hotel, but then Phichit pulled him in and up several flights of stairs. There are at least three clubs in the building, Phichit explained as they went up. He wasn’t sure which one was which anymore, but he was pretty sure he remembered which one he had left Yuri in, assuming, of course, that Yuri hadn’t gone anywhere in the time it took for Phichit to leave, get Victor, and now come back.

“And I can’t show my face—”

“—Because you’re underage and they kicked you out already,” Victor finished for him. They paused at the top of the stairs and Victor looked around. He could hear the music pounding around the corner. He sighed.

“Head back to the hotel, Phichit,” he said. “I’ll take care of things here, and it’s no use for you to just wait around while I try and find him. You’ll just get in more trouble.”

“Right,” Phichit said, hanging his head.

“Phichit,” Victor added before he went off, “I don’t know how you got into these places tonight, and frankly, I don’t want to know, but in the future, please, just...stay home.”

Phichit nodded and turned back down the steps. In a moment, he was out of sight, and Victor was once again left alone. He took a deep breath, and then he turned to face the music.

OOO

The first club was futuristic, full of bright lights and people packed too closely together. After a couple of rounds showed no signs of Yuri, Victor slipped out and headed down the hall to the next place. The second place was larger, and somehow reminiscent of the magnificent palace Victor had passed everyday back home in Petersburg.  The center of the space was crammed full of people and in the crowd here and there, he thought he saw glimpses of skaters he had watched this week. Hopeful, he began his rounds, hoping that somewhere in mass of people he would find Yuri.

He didn’t.

Instead, he found Chris, lounging on one of the champagne-colored divans pushed against the wall, shirt half unbuttoned, a bright red martini in one hand, and Stéphane pressing a line of kisses down his neck. Other skaters, familiar, podium faces, surrounded Chris, who was clearly holding court here.

“Victor,” Chris crooned as soon as he saw him. “You came!”

“Where’s Yuri?” Victor demanded. Any other night, he may have been happy to join in on Chris’ theatrics, let his friend hook him up with a pretty face, but tonight...tonight he was on a mission.

The only surprise Chris showed was a slow, offended blink.

“Have a drink,” Chris said, gesturing with his martini. “Sit down. Regale us to stories. Why do you care so much about Yuri anyways? Something you’re not telling me, Victor? You never did explain why you were buying a G-string together.”

“It’s wasn’t together,” Victor scoffed, though internally, he cringed. The entire incident had been less-funny after he had seen and experienced Yuri’s reaction. He hadn’t called Chris to explain as a result.

“Right,” Chris said, taking a sip of his martini. “You were just conveniently within a similar radius to a store that had all of the kinky boy toys you two so desire.”

“Chris,” Victor snapped. “Yuri. Where is he.”

“Victor, if you’re that desperate for a hookup, I could set you up with someone significantly more available.” He glanced up at Victor and there was pure, uncut wildness in his eyes. “Unless, of course, certain circumstances have changed?”

Victor stared at his friend blankly for a moment, not the least bit amused.

“Chris, he’s drunk. He needs to get back to the hotel. Phichit came and got me because he was concerned. Why, by the way, you were out clubbing _with a sixteen-year-old_ is a question I’m not going to ask, but one last time, Chris. Where’s Yuri?”

Chris shrugged and turned back to his drink.

“Hell if I know,” he said. “He wandered off a while ago.”

Victor forced his quaking hands into his pockets. He could keep his cool. He wouldn’t do anything irrational like, say, reach out and throw Chris’ drink in his face.

“Chris—” Victor started one last time.

“He went off to another club,” Stéphane said and for the first time, Victor gave Chris’ soulmate a full once over.

Mused hair, a lazy, bedroom tilt to his shoulders, but a keenness in his eyes that seemed to be lacking in everyone else.

“It’s down the hall,” Stéphane continued. “I can take you if you want.”

“ _Cher…”_ Chris muttered, but Stéphane was already rising to his full height. He jerked his head towards the door.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you.”

Victor nodded sharply, and turned and followed Stéphane as the other man began to weave his way through the crush of bodies to the door.

“Stéphane!” Victor heard Chris yell after them, but it was too late. They were already gone.

His ears were buzzing when they stepped back into the relative silence of the hallway.

“Sorry about Chris,” Stéphane said.

“It’s fine,” Victor replied. Stéphane was helping him. Chris could go fuck himself for all Victor cared now.

“He hates coming in second,” Stéphane said, stepping in front of Victor. “Every time.”

Victor narrowed his eyes. He didn’t have time to deal with Chris’ hurt feelings. He needed to find Yuri.

“What do you want me to do about that, Stéphane?” He asked.

The other man just shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t, but that’s why he’s acting like this. He’s upset, but he’s trying not to show it. Just give him some space, I guess.”

“Right,” Victor said. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to have this little heart-to-heart, but he had bigger things to worry about. Namely: a drunk Yuri. He moved to step past Stéphane and he let Victor by.

“As for Phichit,” Stéphane added as the reached the second place, “I don’t know how he got in. He had an ID, and it looked legit. I don’t think the bouncers noticed anything amiss until another one of the patrons realized something was wrong.”

They reached the doors and Victor peered in past the bouncers. If Yuri wasn’t here, he didn’t know what he’d do.

“You coming with?” he asked Stéphane.

Stéphane shook his head. “I should be getting back to Chris,” he said. “And Victor, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Victor said again.

Stéphane studied him for a second longer, probably looking to ensure Victor meant the words, then nodded and turned away.

“Good luck, Victor,” he tossed over his shoulder, “and whatever’s going on with you and Yuri...well, I’d figure it out if I were you. Sooner rather than later.”

Victor jerked his chin in a sharp nod and turned back to the club and stepped inside.

It was tiny inside. Very clearly related to the place Victor had just been with Chris, but condensed. Darker. Less royalty, more red lighting. If Chris’s club was a dizzying palace...this was some dark and secret corner for dark and secret deeds. The one bright spot was that he spotted Yuri up on the stage the moment his eyes adjusted to the light.

There was a poison yellow drink in one of his hands. His shirt was missing, tattoo on full display. His glasses were askew and his hair was a mess, but there was no mistaking that Victor’s hunt had come to an end. He felt his throat prickle unexpectedly with tears at the sight before him, but he swallowed them down. This time, he wasn’t polite. He didn’t skirt the room. He pushed dancers aside with little regard to their response as he cut a direct path through the dancefloor to the stage where Yuri was. When at last he reached a clear spot of the floor just below Yuri, the prickling tears were back in full force. He could only stare up at his friend, this man, his soulmate, in mute horror.

“Yuri,” he choked.

And just like that, Yuri’s eyes fluttered open and he glanced down at where Victor stood beneath him. A grin cracked across his face.

“Victor!” he cheered. “You did come!”

He jumped down to Victor’s level and wove his fingers through Victor’s. Just like that, they were dancing, sort of. Victor kept his feet firmly planted even as Yuri swayed closer and snaked his other arm around Victor’s shoulders.

“Yuri, where’s your shirt?” Victor asked.

Yuri shrugged. He had closed his eyes again. A hand reached through the crowd and handed it to him. Victor stared at it in shock for a moment and then up at the face of the girl who presented it. She sized him up with smokey eyes.

“He looks better without it,” she shouted, struggling to be heard over the music.

“Not your call,” Victor snapped.

He snatched the shirt from her and tried to disentangle himself from Yuri so he could slide it back onto his friend. It was a soft, plain black thing. On the front, Victor knew that it said ‘star boy’ in glow in the dark letters. He knew because he had been there when Patrick had given it to Yuri during their friendmas.

“Victor, what are you doing?” Yuri murmured.

His warm breath ghosting past Victor’s ear was not doing wonders for Victor’s concentration, but he forced himself to focus.

“Trying to help you,” he said.

Yuri pouted. “Why?” he asked.

Victor glanced up at him, incredulous. Yuri took a sip of his drink.

“Are you having fun?” Yuri asked, once he was done.

“No,” Victor said. Clear, brutal honesty. No, he was not having fun. No, he was not even enjoying the fact that Yuri, his _soulmate,_ was toppless and draped across him because Yuri was drunk and in a _relationship of three years._

Yuri looked offended at this.

“Why not?” he asked. He looked down at his drink like if it had all the answers, then offered it to Victor. Victor gaped at him a moment and considered brushing the drink aside, but then he took it.

And then he duped it out on the floor.

Yuri stared at the puddle his drink made and then back at Victor in horror. For his part, Victor could have felt worse, but the floor was already sticky with other strangers’ booze and seeing Yuri like this...it cut him to the core in a way that nothing else ever had.

“Come here,” Victor said softly.

Somehow, Yuri heard him, and he slinked back into Victor’s space until they were chest-to-chest once more. Victor straightened out the t-shirt. Yuri reached slid his hands up Victor’s chest and Victor swallowed once. Then, in one motion, he tugged the shirt back down over Yuri’s head.

He had initially intended for it to be a more gentle action, perhaps even helping to guide Yuri’s arms to the sleeves, but this, seeing Yuri like this, having him close like this, it was opening up a wound on Victor’s heart that he had very desperately been trying to heal these last few weeks. Thankfully, once his shirt was (mostly) back on, Yuri was able to take care of getting his arms through the sleeves himself, but he was staring at Victor in blatant hurt.

“What did you do that for?” he asked.

“Yuri, we’re in a public place.” Victor said.

“So?”

“Yuri, your _tattoo,”_ Victor implored.

Yuri’s brow furrowed and he frowned as he tried to gasp what Victor was trying to get at.

“What does that have to do with anything?” he asked.

He reached out for Victor again, sliding one arm over Victor’s shoulders, while the other slunk distinctly southward down Victor’s back. Victor grabbed it before it could get to far and threaded their fingers together so Yuri couldn’t make another move like that.

“Dance with me, Victor,” Yuri mumbled.

“Yuri, you’re drunk,” Victor hissed.

“Dance with me,” Yuri insisted.

“No,” Victor said, reaching for the arm that was growing ever tighter around his shoulders. He needed to get Yuri out of here what felt like hours ago. This wasn’t good; this wasn’t good.

Yuri ground against him and Victor gasped in shock at the sensation. Yuri, head resting on Victor’s shoulder, smiled, pleased at the reaction he had merited, and then frowned.

“I’m sorry I’m such a shitty soulmate,” Yuri said.

“You’re not,” Victor replied instinctively. He loved Yuri, and if this was how Yuri wanted things, then who was he to argue? Right now though, they needed to get out of here. He glanced about, looking for the shortest path to the exit.

“Yes I am,” Yuri laughed and Victor’s attention was drawn back to him once more.

“Victor, what kind of shitty person meets their soulmate and says ‘thanks, but I’d rather not; I’m happier with someone else?’” Yuri continued.

Victor opened his mouth to reply— _someone who’s going to be honest with me_ , he wanted to say—but Yuri was charging on.

“You don’t deserve this,” Yuri said. “You’re a good person. Fucking fantastic, actually. You deserve someone who will notice that. You deserve someone who’s first choice will always be you, not someone else. Do you understand?”

“I don’t want anyone else,” Victor said. He shut his mouth as quickly as the words came out. The implication they carried…it was too heavy.

Then… Yuri kissed him. Victor gasped, and Yuri seized on the opportunity that presented to him. Perfect. That’s what it felt like to be kissed full on the mouth by Katsuki Yuri. Perfect. A thousand poems started to unravel themselves in Victor head, but he dismissed them. He didn’t want to think right now. In spite of himself, in spite of everything, he kissed Yuri back.

“You deserve,” Yuri said when he pulled away, a little breathless still, “someone who will kiss you like that every day. Someone who will always pick you, even when someone else tries to come along. You deserve someone who isn’t afraid to fall in love with you, alright Victor? Promise me that you’ll find someone like that. Promise me that’s who you’ll fall in love with.”

_Too late,_ Victor thought.

Yuri kissed him again, sweeter this time.

“You haven’t promised yet,” he muttered into Victor’s lips.

Victor pulled away. As much as he liked kissing Yuri…

“Yuri, you’re drunk,” he pleaded.

“A little,” Yuri replied. “What does it matter anyways?”

“What about Patrick?”

Yuri laughed, and it was harsh and cruel and bitter.

“I’m going to lose him, just wait,” Yuri said.

“What?” Victor asked.

Yuri kissed him again, and Victor knew it was just to shut him up, but he couldn’t help but melt a little anyways.

“I shouldn’t kiss you when your drunk,” he breathed when Yuri had pulled away.

“Why not?” Yuri asked, spinning them with the music.

“Because your drunk.”

“Didn’t I just say that doesn’t matter? I pretty sure I just said it doesn’t matter.”

“You’re going to forget all about this.”

“So?” Yuri asked. He kissed Victor again, but Victor managed to gain some self-control and pull away sooner.

“What do you have against being happy?” Yuri asked.

“What?”

“I’m here. I’m drunk. I’m your soulmate and I’m willing to kiss you, so why aren’t you taking advantage of it? Why aren’t you letting yourself be happy—even make a play at it—just for a little bit, just for the night?”

Victor opened his mouth, but for once, words eluded him. Yuri kissed him again, then pulled away.

“Be happy,” Yuri ordered. “Just for one night, Victor, be happy. Because it’s all meaningless and it’s just one night and I’m going to forget about it anyways, but we’ll be dust and stars eventually so. Just. Be. Happy. Alright?”

He kissed Victor again.

“You deserve to be happy,” he said. “Even if you do like that mopey, foreign poet aesthetic you have going for you.”

Another kiss, on his jaw this time.

“I don’t have a mopey foreign poet aesthetic,” Victor muttered. He knew he was being distracted, he knew he couldn’t afford to be distracted right now, but at the same time...

“Yes, you do,” Yuri said, landing a kiss on his nose. “It’s kind of hot, actually.”

A soft kiss on the lips.

“Did you just say—”

“Shut up and kiss me back already,” Yuri breathed.

So Victor did. He could think about what Yuri had just said later, but for now…

When he pulled away, Yuri sighed happily.

“You’re good at that,” he said.

“I’m taking you back to the hotel.” Victor said. He pulled Yuri’s hand away from his neck.

Yuri’s brows shot up. “Things I never saw coming.”

“You need to go to bed.”

“With you? Sure.”

“No,” Victor said. “That’s not what I meant. You’re drunk. You need to sleep this off.”

Yuri pouted. “What about you though?”

It was an indulgence, but Victor landed a quick kiss on Yuri’s cheek anyways. “If you had a better grasp of what you were doing, you’d never forgive yourself, so if I let you do this, then I’ll never forgive myself.”

He tugged on Yuri’s hands and began to guide the two of them through the crowd.

“I really don’t deserve you,” Yuri said, quietly enough that Victor almost thought he had imagined it, quietly enough that it was almost lost to the throbbing bass and synth. Victor found the door and he led Yuri through it, then through the quieter halls and down the perilous stairs.  

“What did you say?” Victor asked, once they were out on the quiet street. It was ungodly early. The only people who were out this time of night, in Victor’s experience, were drunks and prostitutes. Quietly, Victor reflected on what that made them. His mind churned out a quick poem and he made a mental note to write it down later.

_Prostitutes or_  
_Drunken lovers, what_  
_Are we in the darkness?_  
_Anything anything anything._  
_Selling our hearts cheaply, I’d  
_ _Let myself be wasted by you._

“I don’t deserve you,” Yuri supplied

“Don’t get started on that again,” Victor said.

As much as he would prefer to get a taxi, that would be almost next to impossible now. And walking might do Yuri some good. It was certainly helping to clear Victor’s head. The hotel wasn’t that far anyways. Maybe a few blocks. The sprint here with Phichit seemed like forever ago, although he knew logically that he couldn’t have been out looking for Yuri for more than an hour.

“It’s true though,” Yuri slurred. “You’re too good for me.”

“How so?” Victor asked.

“I don’t know,” Yuri mumbled. “You just _are.”_

The temptation to press reassuring kisses against Yuri’s temples and the ridges of Yuri’s cheeks was overwhelming, but Victor held back. He had meant what he had said earlier; if Yuri had a better handle on what was happening right now, he would be upset with himself, and because of that, Victor would be upset too. Silently, he prayed that Yuri really _did_ forget everything that had happened tonight. He had no idea how he would explain this in the morning if he didn’t.

“Be happy, Victor,” Yuri mumbled.

Victor’s heart felt hollow.

“Come on,” he muttered gently. “Not much farther now.”

Yuri sighed, but he didn’t say anymore the rest of their walk back, and as much as hurt, it was a small mercy that Victor was thankful for.

OOO

All in all, Victor considered it to be a small miracle when they reached the hotel without any further incident. He did swear, however, when he reached their rooms. The reminder that Phichit had pulled him from his room before Victor had been able to grab his key was unpleasant, to say the least, and it wasn’t like if he was willing to leave Yuri alone long enough to go get another copy, and he wasn’t willing to bring Yuri back down to the lobby with him now that they had already gotten up here.

“What’s wrong, Victor?” Yuri mumbled once he noticed that Victor had been standing there staring at their doors for far too long.

One of his arms was draped over Victor’s shoulders and held firmly in place by a vice-like grip Victor kept on that hand. Victor’s other arm was wrapped around Yuri’s waist so as to keep the other man more fully upright, and for all of his dreaming about being this close to Yuri, about holding him and being held in turn, Victor had never longed more for the distance that Yuri had always been so careful to maintain between them.

“Please tell me you have your room key,” Victor said.

Yuri frowned for a moment, then began patting around his pockets. For a moment, Victor’s heart stood still, if only out of the sudden fear that somewhere in the club, or on the way back, Yuri had lost his key, but then he produced it, and some of the tension in Victor’s chest eased. He tapped it against Victor’s nose somewhat flirtatiously. Victor snatched it out of his hand before the action could go any farther. Unfortunately, this only led to a dreamy sigh on Yuri’s part, which Victor did his best to ignore as he unlocked the door and pulled Yuri into the room after him.

He had the strangest sense of deja vu, then, standing in the short hallway that led to the main room, of another night, when their roles had been reversed; when he had been drunk and Yuri had been sober, when he had wanted from Yuri what Yuri presumably wanted from him now.

“Victor?” Yuri asked.

“Come on,” Victor muttered, and he forced himself to move down the hallway, to flick on the light switch as he passed it by, and leave the memory in the past.

Yuri reached for Victor’s belt the moment that Victor dropped him on the bed, but Victor danced out of reach before he could get his hands around it.

“Not tonight, Yuri,” Victor said when he saw Yuri’s deep frown.

It was strange, how inclined he was to be gentle with Yuri, despite his current frustrations with his soulmate, now that they were in this safe space, this private space.

“Why not?” Yuri asked.

“Because you’re drunk, and you love Patrick,” Victor said softly, stepping into Yuri’s space once again, crouching a little to get on his soulmate’s level.

“I don’t think Patrick loves me very much, sometimes,” Yuri said.

“That’s a hideous lie,” Victor replied.

Gently, he brushed Yuri’s long bangs aside and lifted away Yuri’s glasses. He folded them and set them on the nightstand with care that he hardly reserved to anything, these days, save a framed photo of his mother that he kept on a side table in the living room.

“It’s not, though,” Yuri said. “Sometimes, I think if he had to choose, Patrick would pick his soulmate over me, even if I would pick Patrick over you.”

Victor’s eyes flicked to Yuri. It was a strange confession, unexpectedly raw, and one that Victor didn’t know what to do with. On a certain level, Yuri’s honesty that he would pick Patrick over Victor stung, even if it was something that Victor had known and understood all along, but the sorrow with which Yuri uttered that first part, that Patrick would pick some unknown soulmate over Yuri, was heart wrenching. Again, it left Victor feeling more protective of Yuri. It left him wanting to wrap Yuri up in his arms, or a blanket, and present him with only the softest and best parts of this world, if only to save him from that sorrow, the underlying belief that the man he would always pick might not always pick him.

_You deserve someone who’s first choice will always be you, not someone else...You deserve someone who will always pick you, even when someone else tries to come along._

And for the first time, it occurred to Victor that he had been seeing Yuri and Patrick’s relationship as the fairy tale he had wanted it to be before he had known the truth. And  he had continued to see as what he wanted it to be even after getting glimpses and hints of the messy reality that it was.

“Yuri…” Victor started.

“Patrick’s like you,” Yuri continued, oblivious. “He’s a dreamer. He wants to believe that it will all turn out nice and pretty, the way it’s meant to be. He has to. He would fall apart if he didn’t, because then what’s the point of anything? Patrick needs there to be a point. He needs that to be the reason for his existence. He needs to know that he matters in some divine way because he can’t believe in my need for him is enough. Even after everything, I don’t think he trusts me that much.”

Victor couldn’t think about this right now. He just...couldn’t. Carefully, Victor got down and started untying Yuri’s shoelaces. Yuri watched. He threaded his fingers through Victor’s hair as he did. Victor focused on the feeling of the knots coming undone, and the thin line of the laces between his fingers, and the soft feel of the worn down canvas as he pulled the first shoe off of Yuri’s foot.

“Do you love me, Victor?” Yuri asked.

Victor paused for a moment, just to set the shoe aside.

“Yes,” he said. There was no harm of it, as Yuri was likely to forget all of this by tomorrow, and somehow, something about Yuri’s honesty encouraged it in him.

Yuri sighed. “I don’t love you,” Yuri said.

_I know,_ Victor almost replied.

“But I could,” is what Yuri said before he had the chance.

The thought that Yuri could ever love anyone besides Patrick was preposterous, but alluring all the same. Victor forced the thought from his mind and moved onto Yuri’s other shoe.

“You’d choose me, wouldn’t you, Victor? Every time?”

“Yes,” Victor breathed. “Yes, I would.”

He tugged the other shoe off of Yuri’s foot and set it next to the other. He rose so he was standing once again and Yuri looked up at him, eyes wide and vulnerable as always without his glasses.

“Do you wish it wasn’t like that?”

“No,” Victor admitted. “I love you, Yuri. You can’t regret or resent being in love with someone if you really are in love with them.”

Yuri blinked for a moment as his inebriated mind struggled to process that, then smiled.

“That’s beautiful,” he said.

“The best things are,” Victor said, “when you take the time to think about them.”

“You say such beautiful things,” Yuri mused. He didn’t object as Victor bent down once more and lifted Yuri’s legs up onto the bed, or as Victor reached over to guide Yuri’s shoulders so he was lying on his side.

“I am a poet,” Victor said with a small smile.

Yuri smiled up at him, sweet and sad.

_And the shadows broke and_  
_Shattered around him when_ _  
He smiled, sweet and sad._

The lines appeared so quickly in his mind that he was startled backwards. Yuri didn’t notice. His eyes had already fluttered shut and he breathing had already shifted towards sleep. Their follow-up stanza came quickly too:

_I tried to give him sunlight but it_ _  
_ _melted his rainbow hands._

And a suggestion of the beginning of the poem—because this was so clearly the end, was starting to form in his mind. For the briefest of moments, he allowed himself to consider the indulgence of lying down to sleep next to Yuri, but then he dismissed it. Better to watch over Yuri while he slept, better to make sure that he would be okay. He reached for Yuri again, if only to move him and pull the covers up around over him, then collapsed into the nearby armchair and settled into his vigil for the night. He glanced over at Yuri briefly before he pulled out his phone and started working and reworking the poem.

OOO

The next morning, Yuri gave a great heaving groan and Victor looked up, partly in alarm, to find Yuri awake and staring at him.

“Victor?” Yuri asked.

He started to sit up, but seemed to realize what a poor idea that was and collapsed back onto the pillows almost immediately. Both of his hands snaked out of the covers to rub his temples.

“What happened last night?” he asked.

“You went out,” Victor said simply. “with Phichit and Chris. Phichit came and got me after the bouncers kicked him out because you were, well, smashed, as Theia likes to say. I stayed here last night because Phichit pulled me out of my room before I could grab my key, but now that you’re awake, I think I’d better go.”

It was better, and so much easier, to not say the real reason he had stayed. It was better to return to the distance that he understood now needed to be maintained between them. He stood up to go and had nearly reached the door, was standing on the threshold of that short jog of hallway, when Yuri called his name. Despite himself, Victor paused. Looked back. Yuri had somehow forced himself into a sitting position, although his hands still (gingerly) held his head.

“Did we...talk? At all?” Yuri asked.

Victor’s heart pounded, but he didn’t blink.

“No,” he said. “We never spoke a word.”

And then he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is near and dear to my heart if only because the club scene, starting with Yuri saying "I'm sorry I'm such a shitty soulmate," and going to the end of that scene, was the first thing I wrote for this story. It's actually tagged onto the very end of the UYRtM doc because it was the only place I had to put it until I was able to actually start writing this story, and it was part of how I pitched the idea to Muse. 
> 
> I'm sorry that the last few chapters have been such emotional bombs. The next few lighten up a little... ~~until things get rough again~~
> 
> Oh! [And I wrote a Yuri extra to go with the last chapter!](https://batmads-ao3.tumblr.com/post/171367877441/yuri-extra-after-chapter-18) I had been going back and forth about writing it, but then KiraKchan asked, and that was all the motivation I needed :)


	20. Chapter 20

The rest of the weekend was, thankfully, quiet. Victor kept his distance from Yuri, even as he was careful to keep an eye on the other man and Phichit, who had proven himself to be more of a troublemaker than Victor had ever anticipated. Saturday, he went and watched Zarya skate. She only finished second, but she didn’t seem to mind. Georgi came with him, but they didn’t talk, which Victor was fine with. Whatever grudge or resentment Chris held toward him had faded and by the banquet on Sunday, they were on amicable terms once again. He happily detailed for Victor his and Stéphane’s plans to travel that summer. No wedding date set yet, but soon, Chris added with a wink.

Yuri turned in early, and when the midnight hour approached, Victor dragged Phichit up to their rooms as well. They had an early flight tomorrow and then…

And then Victor didn’t know what. School would finish, eventually. Theia would go home, Patrick would go home too, presumably. He and Yuri and Phichit and Yurio would be left in the empty campustown with long days to fill however they please. He would train all summer for next season. The one year anniversary of his arrival in Pontiac, Michigan would come. School would start again. The next season would start again. And that would be it. And endless march of days and years in a relatively quiet corner of suburban America until he retired, or Yakov returned, and he could go home to his beloved Petersburg once more.

It was a depressing thought, but a peaceful one all the same. It reminded him of the types of days that were coming more and more frequently, as spring slowly but surely became summer. Calm. Beautiful. Still. Full of promise of better times to come, and potential that did not demand to be tapped, but lingered all the same.

The next day, he ensured that Yuri and Phichit were ready, and checked out, and then rode with them to the airport. Ciao Ciao smiled at him gratefully, but to Victor, it was nothing.

And endless stream of gentle days, the best kinds of days. That’s what was waiting for him. And perhaps they would change with the season, but no longer would he wince at the winter wind that raged against his skin. No longer would he bemoan the bone-deep damp of the late fall, and early spring.

A poem unfolded in his mind, one he had written before, but seemed to have so much more meaning now, meaning built upon this strange new feeling of just...holding still. Waiting as the world went on spinning. He let it unfurl across the canvas of his mind, and consume him for the duration of their flight.

He was happy to see Theia and Patrick and Yurio waiting for them at the airport, and happy to return home with them to Pontiac. The ate dinner at Colonel’s. Donald had baked them a cake in celebration of the end of the season, and Victor and Yuri’s success at Worlds. He chatted with them all good naturedly, even Yurio, and listened attentively to Victor’s description of pirozhki. When the night was over, Theia took them each home. And that was it. The next day came and went, and the day after that. Victor returned to his usual schedule of hanging out with his friends at the student center on campus, and writing in Graeme’s.

Good weather came and went, but on the nice days, they would spread out their blankets and lay around on one of the quads, Theia carefully marking music for her theory class, Yuri scribbling notes on his physics readings and Patrick always lying on him somehow, reading his own notes or sometimes playing guitar. Victor filled his notebook with poems he could never share and started on another. The end of the month came, and they celebrated Phichit’s birthday with fondue at Graeme’s.

May came, and with it, the most beautiful days Victor had ever seen. He had never seen a sky so blue, clouds so perfect that they looked as though they had been painted. They spent more days on the quad, more days anticipating the promise of summer. He was out one day in late May, fiddling out the last lines of a poem.

 _Slowly the days slid by_  
_Slowly the world slid by_  
_And I floated through the sapphire sky_  
_On a boat made of clouds_  
_Guided by a thousand_ _  
Diamond birds._

“Victor?” Theia asked.

He looked up at her. He didn’t know how he felt about the line about the cloud boat and was trying to come up with an alternative.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Do you want to come?” Yuri asked him.

Victor looked between the two of them, trying to remember what they had been talking about. His mind was still half on the line about clouds. Yuri smiled, softly, forgivingly, and Victor’s heart jumped.

_But I could._

The memory whispered in his ear before he could push it away.

“You weren’t listening, were you?” Theia asked.

Victor shook his head, and did his best to look bashful. It wasn’t hard. He knew he probably should have been paying more attention, but...Yuri. His soulmate had been more companionable with him as of late, but it didn’t change Victor’s perception of things. That distance between them, he understood now why Yuri had so rigidly enforced it before. It was better off for both of them if they didn’t get too close. Yuri belonged with Patrick, and in time, Victor would find someone to content himself with too. Someone he could share a lifetime of treasured, tender days with. It didn’t have to be his soulmate. Just someone who would pick him, even if deep down, he knew he would always pick Yuri.

“What are you writing?” Yuri asked.

“Just a poem,” Victor replied. “I don’t like it very much. What did you ask me?”

Yuri sighed, and for a moment, Victor believed that he was actually disappointed that Victor hadn’t gone into detail about the poem.

“Patrick and I--his grandfather has a small cabin on Lake Michigan. We go every summer for a few weeks. He runs in the woods nearby and sometimes on the beach. We go swimming. We hang out in the town nearby. It’s our vacation.”

“Okay…” Victor said.

“I was wondering if you and Theia wanted to come with me this summer; Phichit already turned me down. He wants to focus on skating this summer before the new season starts, but...I don’t know. I thought it would be fun. If you two came, that is. If you want to stay and work on your skating too, that’s fine, but…”

He trailed off. Theia was giving him A Look that Victor couldn’t interpret.

“Wouldn’t we just be intruding on you and Patrick?” Victor asked.

Yuri shook his head. “Patrick’s staying around here,” he explained. “He wants to train with his coach for the trials.”

“Trials?” Victor asked, looking between his two friends for answers.

Theia laughed.

“Patrick’s going to the Olympic trials this summer,” she said. “He has good prospects too, from what I understand.”

“Really?” Victor asked.

They both stared at him in shock.

“You knew that Patrick was a runner, right?” Theia asked. “Like, you have heard him talk about this, yes? You’ve noticed when he’s been gone for meets?”

Victor let his silence serve as answer enough. Theia laughed again, and Yuri did too.

“Patrick’s a bit of an up-and-comer,” Yuri said. “Runners aren’t like skaters. Generally speaking, the best distance runners are in their late twenties, early thirties. Even forties, sometimes. Patrick’s an exception to that. No one’s sure if he’ll place, but…”

“He’s going to the Olympics,” Victor finished.

Yuri nodded.

“Why doesn’t he run for a better school then?” Victor asked. “I mean, not to insult Mesquaki, but aren’t there better running teams out there?”

Yuri hesitated, then took a deep breath. Theia went back to lounging, content to let Yuri explain all this.

“There are, and they all offered him nice scholarships, but Mesquaki still has a good team, and we have a liberal academic program that lets Patrick pursue his interests without any complications. Plus, it’s close to home for him and he…well, he needs that. For reasons of his own, personal reasons, he wanted to stay around here.”

“Oh,” Victor said.

Yuri paused to fidget with his glasses.

“So will you come?” he asked at last. “I understand if you’d rather stay, but...it’s always a fun time, and the cabin is nice. We’ll be there for about a month, maybe longer, depending on weather and all that.”

“I don’t know,” Victor said.

And he didn’t. On one hand, it sounded nice; a month of a beach vacation in a little cabin near what sounded like a pleasant little small town. Picture perfect, like something out of a story. On another, it dangerously lessened the amiable distance between him and Yuri, if not erasing it all together.

“Come on, Victor,” Theia pleaded. “I said I would go. And what are you going to do around here all summer anyways with the two of us gone and Phichit spending every waking hour at the rink—which is what he’s told me he has every intention of doing.”

“I don’t know,” Victor said again. “Hang out with Yurio?”

“He’s going home this summer,” Theia said dryly. She chuckled. “Really, honey, you’ve become super oblivious these past few weeks.”

Unconsciously, Victor’s eyes flitted up to Yuri. He looked away quickly when his gaze was met.

“Are you really just going to lay around here all summer and mope and write poetry you never let anyone see?” Yuri asked.

Victor looked over at him again and for a moment, he couldn’t help but wonder how much of that night Yuri actually remembered, or if it was just that his opinion that Victor had a “mopey foreign aesthetic” was one he had been nursing for a while.

“Fine,” Victor said. “I’ll come.”

Theia clapped. Yuri smiled. Victor wondered what the hell he had just agreed to.

“I’ll text you all the details later,” Theia promised.

“Wonderful,” Victor replied.

And that was that. Suddenly, he had been bullied into spending at least of a month of his summer, cooped up in a tiny lake house with his soulmate, and with their semi-oblivious best friend, despite the fact that he and said soulmate had both silently agreed to keep their distance from each other. It was like a set-up for a bad movie, a comedy of some sort. Except, somehow, Victor couldn’t find anything funny about it.

OOO

Finals week came, and with it, the end of the school year. They had their last meal of the year together at Colonel’s, and then Theia took Yurio home early, so he could finish packing and rest before his flight back home the next day. The rest of them went back to Patrick’s, where they watched a YouTube musical the three friends liked and insisted on showing to Victor. They sang along with all the songs, especially the last one, and then, that was it. Yuri stayed behind and Theia drove Victor and Phichit home, although the night was honestly pleasant enough that Victor wouldn’t have minded walking.

The next week, Patrick left to go train somewhere or other, and Yuri left to go down to the cabin as sort of an advance guard and prepare for Theia and Victor’s arrival. Victor tried to take his mind off of his impending sense of doom by skating. He had the barest ideas of how he wanted to surprise the audience this season, although topping his history-making, record-setting season from last year wasn’t going to be the easiest of feats. It was something he was still turning over in his mind when Theia called him Sunday night. She didn’t bother to say hello. She just screamed “roadtrip, baby!” at the top of her lungs.

Victor almost had a heart attack.

He had almost managed to forget that the cause for the growing feeling of foreboding looming over his life was fast approaching. Almost, that is, until Theia reminded him of it.

“Are you ready for this?” She asked one she had finished screaming.

No. He had packed one pair of socks. That was it. And he had taken them out two hours ago and only tossed them back when he forgot why he had taken them out in the first place.

“Of course,” he lied.

“Babe, this is going to be so lit. Do you know many years I’ve heard Yuri and Patrick talk about this taco cart that I have not actually been able to experience for myself, Victor? Far too many. And you know how much I love tacos.”

“You do love them,” he dutifully agreed.

“It’s been torture, honestly. But ha! At last, my opportunity has come. I will finally get to have these legendary tacos. It’s going to be fantastic. It’s going to be legendary. It’s going to be legendary to the point of life changing.”

“Indeed,” Victor said. Despite himself, he was smiling. Theia’s enthusiasm over a mere _taco cart_ was enough to put a slight damper on his poor spirits, though they still lingered in the background.

“Are you hype, Victor?” Theia asked.

“I’m very hype,” he said.

Makkachin cam padding up with the ball Victor had been tossing to him and Victor paused to scratch the poodle's ears. Even Makkachin had been invited along for the summer trip. Theia had even purchased a large bag of dog food to last him the month (at least) that they would be staying at the cabin.

“You don’t sound very hype,” she said.

“I’m very hype,” Victor said again, trying this time to let some false enthusiasm into his voice.

Theia hummed in such a way so as to convey to him that this was not working. Victor threw the ball up to the loft. Makkachin went bounding up the stairs to retrieve it.

“Is your lack of enthusiasm because of Yuri?” Theia asked.

“What?” Victor objected immediately. “No, of course not.”

“Victor,” Theia said.

“It’s not,” he protested weakly.

“Honey before you try that lie again, I’m going to remind you that I’m the mom friend and moms have lie detectors. Also, I know you and like...you dropped this huge bomb on me in a coffee shop a few months ago that would suggest otherwise.”

“Maybe?” Victor said.

“That’s the spirit,” Theia chirped. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Victor groaned. No. No way was he telling Theia that Yuri was his soulmate. It would muddy the waters too much. Chris didn’t even know. When he had hinted at his curiosity, once more, about why Yuri had been with Victor in a lingerie shop, Victor had waved it away, although he had explained, carefully, that no, he and Yuri had not slept with each other, had never intended to sleep with each other, and that Yuri was still (very happily) with Patrick.

“Not really?” he said.

“Honey, did something happen at worlds?” she asked.

Victor was very glad he was sitting on his couch. And not eating. Or drinking. As it was, he jumped a little.

“No,” he said, but he knew that he said it too quickly, too casually.

“Victor,” Theia said.

“Theia,” he replied. “Even if something did happen, which it didn’t, I wouldn’t tell you about it.”

“And why not?”

He thought about Yuri then, and the things Yuri had said that night about Patrick, about him.

“Because if something had happened it would be a mess,” Victor said. “And I don’t want to make drama where there doesn’t need to be.”

“You two didn’t sleep together, did you?” Theia asked.

Victor sighed. Makka brought him back the ball. Victor threw it.

“No,” he said. “We did not sleep together.”

“Okay,” Theia said. She believed him, then. Of course she did; he had told the truth.

“If you don’t want to talk about it with me, hun, that’s fine. I respect that there are some things we need to keep to ourselves,” Theia said, “but just so you know, Yuri’s been...different towards you lately.”

Victor stayed quiet. Yuri’s words, that “but I could” were ringing around his head again.

“It doesn’t matter, Theia,” Victor said.

“Just thought you should know,” she replied. “Now I’m going to go now. I’ll be at your place around 9:00 tomorrow. It’s about a four hour drive, and Herrington is in central time, so we should get there around noon. Sound good to you?”

“Sure,” Victor said.

“Are you sure you’re packed and ready?”

“I told you I am,” Victor said. He stood up and starting mounting the steps one by one.

“You haven’t even pulled out your suitcase, have you?” Theia asked.

Victor reached his loft and looked down at where the suitcase lay open on his bed.

“I’ve pulled it out,” he said.

“Is there anything in it?” The asked.

“Yes,” Victor snipped. He adored Theia, but he constant stream of nearly correct guesses was starting to grate on him.

“Is there more than one thing in it?” she asked.

Victor looked down at the forlorn pair of socks sitting in the bottom of his suitcase.

“No,” he admitted.

Theia sighed. “Finish packing, Victor; I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Right,” he said.

“And cheer up,” she added. “This’ll be fun. I promise.”

It was Victor’s turn to hum in a such a way to demonstrate that in no way did he believe her.

“I promise,” she said again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Theia,” was his only reply. He hung up before she could try, and fail, to convince him against his better judgement.

Makka came padding up the stairs and deposited the ball at Victor’s feet.

“This isn’t going to end well, Makka,” Victor told the poodle.

Makkachin wagged his tail, anticipating the ball he knew he was about to be thrown.

“I’m serious,” Victor continued. Even so, he went to grab the ball anyways.

He tossed it downstairs and winced at the loud thud something made as the ball knocked it to the floor. Makkachin gave a hearty woof and went chasing after his toy. Victor leaned over the railing of the loft to try and catch a glimpse of what had fallen but failed. A moment later, Makachin returned with his prize. Once more he dropped it at Victor’s feet. Victor stared at it for a moment, the back up at the dog.

“What have we gotten ourselves into?” he asked.

Makkachin just started bouncing towards the stairs. Victor picked up the ball and tossed it. Another trinket was knocked over below. He pulled open one of his dresser drawers and started sorting out which shirts he wanted to bring.

OOO

To be honest, Victor had never been on a road trip. Not when he was younger; his mother had always prefered to take the train places, especially when they were in France visiting family; the exception of that rule had spelled her end, too. But Theia assured him that driving was the most convenient way to get there and, more than that, that roadtripping was a favorite American pastime, so roadtripping it was. A grocery bag full of gas store snacks was in his seat when he got in the car. He moved it to the ground, fully believing that they wouldn’t eat any of it. By mid morning, he had devoured half a sleeve of pringles and Theia had gone through two bags of chex mix and a mountain dew. The radio was playing some top 40s station. The music pounded, as all pop music did, but it felt nostalgic somehow too. Makkachin had covered both of the windows within his reach with some sort of slobbery residue. It was fantastic.

Outside his window, Michigan slid by. All in all, it wasn’t thrilling. Lakes and fields and strange subdivisions rising in the distance. According to Theia, that that’s what the majority of Michigan was like. Ohio, Indiana, Southern Illinois, and Iowa were just cornfields. Those were the really boring places to travel.

They stopped every now and then to let Makkachin out, and to take brakes themselves and fill up the mom-mobile, which Theia had on loan from the rest of her family this summer. At one rest stop, Theia climbed atop a large rock bordering a nearby lake and spread her arms wide. The wind swept her hair back and she closed her eyes and smiled. She looked like a painting Victor had seen once but long since forgotten the name of. She looked beautiful.

“I can’t wait to get to the beach,” she said. “I want to write a song for it, for this. I want to write a song that feels this free.”

Victor laughed, but he understood. He wanted to be able to write a poem to capture this moment, this feeling of the road unfolding beneath their tires towards some great adventure, this feeling of forever, too.

They talked about everything while Theia drove. Music. Maria. Poetry. Victor’s friends from Before.

“Have you ever read _On The Road_?” Theia asked.

Victor reached back to scratch Makkachin’s ears.

“No,” he said, “why?”

“I had to read it in high school,” she said. “Good book. Good road trip book. I have no idea what the author was trying to say throughout the entire thing, but the prose was beautiful; you would like it.”

“Alright,” Victor said. “I’ll get it as...what did you call it earlier? A beach read?”

“Yes!” Theia said. “And tell me what you think of it when it’s done. Also, read Tyler Kent White. He’s a facebook poet that I like. I think you’d like him too.”

“Facebook poet?”

“He publishes a lot of him poems there, and that’s where I found him, so that’s what I call him. Also: Sean of the South. He writes pretty essays.”

“You’ll have to send me a list,” Victor said.

Theia hummed in agreement, then reached over and cranked the radio up. Victor laughed, and as much as they could, both tied to their seats and Theia driving, they danced and sang along.

OOO

As Theia had predicted, they made it to Herrington, the beach town where Patrick’s grandpa’s cabin was, around noon. Earlier, actually, considering that Theia spent most of them time at least ten miles over the speed limit. When Victor had pointed this out to her, she had only winked and said that the trick to life was knowing when to break the rules. Apparently, speeding during road trips was one of those breakable rules.

The cabin itself was painted white, but it looked weathered somehow, as only these sorts of cabins can. The shutters, trim, and steps were all painted dark green. A similarly painted door swung open as they pulled up and Yuri stepped out onto the top step to watch as Theia parked.

“You made it!” he said once their doors swung open.

“Indeed we did,” Theia said, leaning around the hood to smile at him.

Yuri smiled back, then glanced over at Victor.

“I’m glad you came,” he said.

“Well, we’re glad to be here,” Theia said before Victor could respond.

The side door slid open, and a moment later, she appeared with Makka. Yuri’s attention was pulled away as he leaned down to scratch behind the poodle’s ears, but the way he had looked at Victor lingered in the back of Victor’s mind.

“It’s bigger than I expected,” Theia said, surveying the cabin.

Yuri glanced back at it, then up at her.

“Master bedroom takes up the entire second floor, then the guest bedroom is downstairs. It’s a trundle, so you guys can share, or, if you don’t want to do that, the couch is also a foldout,” Yuri said. “And it really just looks big from the outside. The space inside is just...used really well.”

Theia shrugged. Her duffle was also already slung over her shoulder.

“Wasn’t criticizing, just commenting, and with the beach this close,” she glanced over at where a deerpath snaked through the woods towards the smudge of beach just beyond, “I’m not complaining.”

Yuri chuckled, stopped scratching behind Makkachin’s ears to glance up at Victor again and then back towards Theia.

“So do you guys want help moving in?” he asked, and Theia smiled in a way that said yes.

“And then tacos,” she said.

“But of course.”


	21. Chapter 21

After they had gotten settled and moved everything that Victor and Theia had brought along into the cabin, they went out for tacos, as promised. It was a good stand, and Victor could see why Theia had been so eager to try it after the reviews Yuri and Patrick had given the place year after year. They sat on picnic table out front and listened to the water crash onto the nearby shore. Yuri and Theia talked about Pontiac and school and the things to do around Herrington. Victor ate his tacos and listened and let poems unfold across his mind.

_The night settled down around us_  
_Waves coming in and out_  
_A star in the sky for_  
_Everything I love about you_  
_A crash of the waves for_ _  
Every time I wish to recite them aloud._

Afterwards, they walked back to the cabin, some of the neighbors pausing on their evening stroll to say hello to Yuri and ask after Patrick and Seamus. They watched a Disney movie that Theia had brought along when they got back and ate ice cream while they lounged on the couch and floor to watch. ‘Vacation’ had previously been a foreign experience to Victor, a vague memory of eating crepes by the Seine in the summer. He had claimed many times since, to have gone on vacations throughout the years. To Milan, to Barcelona, to Nice, but Chris had been quick to point out that it wasn’t really a vacation if he spent half his time practicing at a local rink and the other half being bombarded with fans and paparazzi. That, Chris had said, was just his usual life transported to an exotic location, like if it was the “special episode” of a popular TV show.

But this, this Victor could see, clearly, was a vacation. None of the locals would bother him, if they even knew who he was in the first place. If there was a rink nearby that he could have been practicing on, he didn’t know about it. This month, tucked away in this hidden corner of the world with Yuri and Theia, was just going to be about walking on the beach, and playing with Makkachin, and relaxing in the evenings as they watched Disney movies and ate ice cream. The only way it could have been made better, of course, was if Theia wasn’t there to prevent him from going swimming, but otherwise...and endless march of perfect days, stretching on until the end of time.

After the movie was over, Theia helped him make up the foldout and Yuri retreated upstairs to skype with Patrick alone. It must be hard for him, Theia said to him in a hushed whisper, to be here without the Patrick for the first time since they had established this tradition, but she liked to think that her and Victor’s presence made it slightly easier.

For the next few days, life proceeded as expected. They’d woke up in the morning, Theia would help him fold up the bed, they’d make breakfast together, then head off to the beach. Theia would go swimming, Victor would sit under an umbrella in the shade reading poetry and keeping an eye on Makka, and Yuri would split his time between the two of them.

They were sitting outside the local ice cream shop one night when Theia’s phone starting ringing. Victor was sipping on the best butter pecan malt he’d had since moving to the states, Yuri’s spoon was standing straight up, like a triumphant marker, on top of the mountain of pistachio ice cream he’d gotten. He was too focused on texting Patrick to notice that little streams had formed on his mountain and were dripping off in little waterfalls over the edge of the bowl onto the metal table.

“Hello?” Theia asked, picking up the phone.

Victor scooped up a heaping spoonful of whip cream and malt and ate it slowly, rolling the taste around his mouth. Vintage cafe lights had been strung up over the patio where they were sitting and kids were running around, enjoying the summer night and playing some sort of game. It felt like something out of a dream.

“Oh my God,” Theia said and Victor looked up, pausing in his contemplation of the evening to see what had caused her to become so frazzled all of a sudden.

“Oh my God; is she alright?” Theia asked, and now Yuri was looking up to, looking between Victor and Theia for answers to what was going on. She stood suddenly, reaching for her purse and fumbling to get it over her shoulder as she kept her phone pressed to her ear.

“I’m—I'm on my way,” She said. She paused for a moment, listening to the objection that came down the other end of the line, then frowned.

“Of course I’m coming; she’s my _soulmate_. I have to be there for her.”

Victor’s heart went cold. Ice flooded through his veins. A myriad of worse-case scenarios flooded through his mind, but in them, he stood in Theia’s shoes, and the person on the other end of the line told him something horrific had just happened to Yuri. Theia snapped a few more things and then hung up. She looked up at Victor, and then over at Yuri, and her eyes were wide with fear. Her breathing was a little ragged.

“Maria fell into an orchestra pit,” Theia said. “She’s not alright, obviously, but she should be fine. She got away pretty easy; broken arm, severely sprained ankle, some cracked ribs.”

“Are you leaving now?” Yuri asked.

Theia pressed her lips together. Tears were gathering in the corners of her eyes. She nodded sharply.

“I—I don’t—I just—Yuri she’s my _soulmate,_ ” Theia said.

The hand that Yuri laid over Theia’s—still clutching her phone with a white knuckled grip—was gentle.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s head back. I’ll help you get your things together.”

“What about you though?” Theia asked, looking between Yuri and Victor now. “Will you be—”

“I’ll be alright, Thee. I’ve still got Victor, after all.”

Theia nodded again and they all stood. Victor collected their trash and jogged to toss it into the little bin in the corner before heading back to his friends. Yuri had one hand firmly wrapped around Theia’s elbow. She was shaking a little, and Victor was half-tempted to ask if she was sure that leaving _right now_ was the greatest idea, but he knew that having to wait here would just make her feel worse. Yuri’s eyes met Victors. His lips were a neat, worried line, and Victor wondered if he was thinking about Patrick, far away from him, and putting himself in Theia’s shoes as Victor had done just seconds ago, but with Patrick the one hurt on the other end of the line.

“Come on,” Victor said when he reached them. “Better not to waste time.”

OOO

Theia was gone within the hour. She promised to call Yuri as soon as she got back to the hospital to assure them that she had arrived in safely and to assess Maria’s condition for herself, no matter how late it was. They were lucky, Yuri reflected after Theia had driven off. Maria went to school in New York City, but she had been home for the summer. While Theia would have to drive, they wouldn’t have to worry about the hassle of trying to get a plane out there. Theia could leave immediately, and she would be surrounded by her family when she got there.

“Have you met Maria?” Victor asked as they turned to go back into the cabin. Then kicked himself. Of course Yuri had. Yuri had known Theia for years, and Theia had given him the chance to meet her soulmate last fall. He regretted now not meeting up with the group while she had been here after StS2.

“A few times,” Yuri replied, ignoring how silly the question was. He pulled open the door, but neither of them stepped through it. “The first time was right before school started our freshman year. She—she’s very different than Theia, but they work together. You would like her.”

“How do you figure?” Victor asked, and now they stepped inside, the need to keep moving, to do _something,_ pressing upon them.

Yuri shrugged. “I don’t know she just—she doesn’t care what other people think about her. If she has a question, she asks. if she wants to do something, she does it. She’s always laughing, but she knows when to be serious too. The first time we met she asked me if I had slept with Patrick yet. We were in a public restaurant, but she didn’t care. She wanted to know, so she asked.”

Victor chuckled. “Theia talks about her a lot; I hope that I get another chance to meet her, someday.”

Yuri reached the kitchen and he glanced over his shoulder to where Victor had paused in the living room.

“You will,” he said. “Hang around with us long enough, and you will.”

Victor nodded and they lapsed into silence for a moment. Yuri pulled open the refrigerator door and closed it then went around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets. He mumbled something that Victor couldn’t catch and Victor stepped closer.

“What?” Victor asked.

Yuri looked over and watched him approach, then back at the cabinet that stood open in front of him.

“Do you want to help me make _katsudon_?” he asked.

Victor had no idea what Yuri was talking about. The cabinet in front of them just had a tub of rice in it, and some dry pasta, and some cooking oils, but doing something, helping Yuri...it was exactly what he needed right then; the steady reminder that his soulmate, the man he loved, was alright and happy to have Victor in his life, even if only as his friend.

“Okay,” Victor said, and Yuri smiled.

OOO

Yuri, it seemed, had been planning to make katsudon at some point this summer anyways because he had most of the specialty ingredients already stocked in one of the cupboards. His search earlier had been to ensure the cabin had all the other things he needed, like rice, and eggs. _Katsudon_ , Victor quickly learned, was Yuri’s favorite food. It was a dish his mother made for him whenever he came home, and when he was younger, something he had only been allowed to eat when he had won a competition.  They set the rice to cook, then cut up the pork, and breaded it, then Yuri left Victor to cut up the onions while he fried the pork in the heavy pan they found.

It was a long process, but it was a process Victor could see that Yuri enjoyed doing. It was a familiar, rhythmic activity that Yuri could lose himself to to avoid losing his mind to the reeling panic about Theia, and Maria, and worry for both of them, and the unintentional connection his mind drew between their crisis and a hypothetical one between he and Patrick. For his part, Victor just liked to watch. He had a growing list in the back of his mind of all the things he liked about Yuri, and watching his soulmate cook for the two of them was quickly becoming one of his favorites.

When they were done, they took their bowls out onto the porch and ate on the steps, watching as lightning bugs flitted about in the yard. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

“It’s going to rain soon,” Yuri observed, looking up into the gathering darkness at the line of clouds on the horizon.

“Mmm,” Victor agreed.

He was too busy digging into his katsudon to make good conversation, but to be fair, it was probably one of the best meals of his life, and not only because Yuri had made it for him. Katsudon easily could have been the food of Gods, if it wasn’t already. He was certain that Yuri knew this, but had pointed it out the moment had had taken his first bite. Yuri had laughed, and blushed. In between inhaling his food as quickly as he could, Victor was thinking about that moment.

Makkachin nosed the door open and collapsed with a happy thunk on the porch behind them. He crawled forward until his nose protruded into the space between Victor and Yuri and licked Victor a few times on the cheek. Victor smiled, but didn’t stop eating. Yuri, however, who had been taking his time, set his bowl down, laughed, and reached over the scratch Makka’s head. His fingertips brushed Victor’s ear, and Victor repressed a shudder at the fleeting touch.

“Hello, Makka,” Yuri said.

He giggled as Makka started licking his palms and Victor made the decision to someway, somehow, remember this night for the rest of his life, to weave it into poems, even if it would never capture the feeling just right. That it had begun with something so horrific as Maria’s accident had become secondary to the joy he felt in being alone with Yuri in this safe little retreat by the beach.

“It’s been ages since I’ve been on vacation,” he admitted to Yuri then, because the silence was nice, but words were nicer, and this was a small offering, and an attempt at an exchange.

_I tell you something about me, you tell me something about you._

“Really?” Yuri asked. “How come?”

“Just got tied up in skating, I suppose,” Victor replied. “My mother, she used to drag my father and I to Paris for all the holidays. We’d see my grandmother and her family.”

“Why don’t you still go anyways?” Yuri asked.

He was focused on scratching behind Makka’s ears, but his eyes had flicked briefly to Victor as he asked his question. This was an opportunity to share, to say the things he had never been given the chance to say before, if he wanted to.

“My father never liked traveling; it takes away from him being at work,” Victor said. “And he doesn’t like Paris; he thinks it’s a dirty city full of weak, dirty people. After my mother died, there just didn’t really seem to be a point, or at least, not to him anyways. My grandmother died when I was 10, so there wasn’t any family to make the pretense of visiting since everyone else had moved away by then. So we just...stopped.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuri said softly.

“I want to go back sometime,” Victor said. “I need to. It’s been so long. We used to get up every morning and walk alongside the Seine. We’d buy bread every day from the baker, and if I was good, I would get a pain au chocolat as a little treat. She’d make me hot cocoa in the winter and we’d sit at the window seat and watch the snowfall over the city together.”

He glanced over at Yuri when he was finished, all the words he was willing to offer up tonight now in the open, and scraped his chopsticks back through his bowl of katsudon. He wasn’t as adept at using them as Yuri was, but he fared fairly well.

“Everyone in my family lives on top of each other,” Yuri said. “Me, my sister, my parents, my friends too, I guess. Everyone’s always at the _Onsen,_ and everyone always has an opinion. I love them all dearly,” Yuri said. He smiled softly, though he kept his attention fixed on Makka.

“But?” Victor prompted.

“But sometimes it’s a little much. The pressure of everyone’s acceptance and expectations...it’s as unnerving sometimes as it would be if none of them believed in me. I’m glad that I go back every year for the holidays. I miss home. I miss all of them, and everyone here is great, but it’s not the same. It’s hard to explain sometimes without being mean about it…”

“That’s how I feel about Petersburg,” Victor said. “I love it here, I love spending time with all of you, lots more sometimes than with my other friends, but I still love my city too, and it’s hard not for all of you to have the context of why I love it, and why being here is sometimes...disappointing.”

Yuri met his eyes then and nodded. They understood each other then, more so than they ever had before.

“What’s your family like then?” Victor prompted. “Besides always having an opinion.”

Yuri smiled again and looked back at Makkachin.

“My mama’s lovely. She likes everybody, and everybody likes her. She’s patient, and kind, and absolutely the best cook. _Chichi_ , Dad, is a little silly, especially when he’s drunk, but even besides that, he likes to tease me and Mari.”

“Mari’s your sister?” Victor asked.

Yuri nodded. “She’s a little...rough, I guess. She hasn’t met her soulmate and I don’t think she cares if she does or doesn’t. She’s always been happy on her own, just helping around the Onsen, supporting me, being with our family. She’s never really even had a boyfriend that she’s been interested in. And there are others, too; Minako-sensei, Yuuko-chan, everyone else in Hasestu that makes it home, but, well, they’re my family.”

He glanced over at Victor then, and then at the clouds, coming ever closer, over the trees.

“Want to head back in?” Yuri asked.

Victor looked down at his bowl. He had finished, although he had barely realized it, as enraptured as he was with how good it had tasted and the little snippets of the life Yuri had shared with him. An Onsen that seemed to be a central meeting place for everyone significant to him. A family that loved and supported him through everything. It seemed like something out of a dream. He wanted to go there and meet them all just to see to assure himself that it wasn’t.

“Sure,” he said.

Together, they climbed back up onto the porch. Yuri reached down to snag his bowl. Victor held the door open for him and then followed him inside. They set their bowls in the sink besides each other, and then...then they were left standing next to one another, too close to be casual. The thought crossed Victor mind as Yuri turned towards him, and in the moment before Yuri spoke, that perhaps Yuri would kiss him then, and his heart sang with the longing for it.

But that wasn’t what happened.

“Well I’m gonna,” Yuri said instead. He gestured vaguely upstairs to demonstrate his meaning.

“Right,” Victor replied, stepping back to give his friend room to slip by. “Right. I’m gonna…”

He gestured vaguely at the guest bedroom, letting his intention hang in the air between them. Move all my stuff into Theia’s room. Go to bed. Read.

“Right,” Yuri said. “Let me know if you…”

“I will,” Victor replied.

Yuri slipped by him and bounded up the stairs with an easy grace. A few seconds later, the floorboards creaked and Victor knew he was going about his nightly routine. It was late, too late to call Patrick, but perhaps they’d text, Yuri would tell him about what had happened with Theia, if he hadn’t already. Maria was probably Patrick’s friend too, all things considered. Victor was the only one who had yet to meet her, and that distanced him from the situation, as much as he would have wanted to be involved.

“Makka,” he called.

His throat felt rough, and the call came out strange, but Makka padded over to him all the same. Outside, thunder boomed, and some levy gate in heaven broke. Rain poured out of the sky in sheets. He watched it for a moment, the way it hit the dry ground beyond the roofed porch out the screen door, then strode quickly over and closed the main door itself out of some odd feeling that if he didn’t, the rain would get in like a thief.

That task done, he slipped into the guest room, Makka at his heels. The room, when he flipped on the lightswitch, felt strangely barren, perhaps because just this morning, it had been filled with Theia’s things, and now it wasn’t. Whatever hesitation he felt, however, was not shared by Makka, who happily jumped onto the bedspread and settled down for the night.

“I love him so much, Makka,” Victor said.

The poodle’s only response was to stretch out and yawn. Bemused, Victor leaned over and scratched behind the dog’s ears. The rain outside pounded against the window and the ground in a constant, pleasant drone. Victor did his best not to think of Yuri curling up in his own bed to fall asleep upstairs, and started getting ready himself. It would do no good dwelling on what could never be except in the dreams that snuck up in him in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~When you lowkey think they're about to kiss and then they just...don't~~
> 
> Okay, so, I am _trash_ and genuinely got my days mixed up and thought that I was supposed to post this tomorrow instead of today, so that's why it's late. As it is, update schedule may slow down a little because my life is A Mess and the The Sickness™ has come for Muse. Also, Muse is going through a really rough time in her personal life rn, so if y'all could give her some love and support, please do because she deserves it, especially for how much she does to make this fic what it is. 
> 
> Anywho! Bonding time ~~alone~~ just hanging out and making katsudon for Yuri and Victor! Just what the doctor ordered! Yay! 
> 
>  
> 
> ~~And I'm sorry that I had to push Maria into an orchestra pit but I swear to God it was necessary. Alright? Alright.~~


	22. Chapter 22

It rained on and off for the next several days. The morning of the Fourth of July, it came down in sheets, but by evening, it had let up. When the dinner hour came around, Victor and Yuri wandered over to the chicken shack in downtown Herrington that they had started to frequent. While they waited for the order to come up, Yuri  chatted with the counter girl about the weather and her plans to watch fireworks that evening and the pitbull her family had just adopted. She dropped down scraps for Makka to eat when no one was watching. They parted amicably when their food came and then he and Yuri wandered back towards home and the pale stretch of beach in front of the cabin.

For a long time, they ate in silence, watching the waves come in and out. Makk chased after seagulls, but always came panting back to them. Down a ways, a little girl played by her water. Her parents watched from a safe distance away. The sun started sinking beneath the horizon line and suddenly the waves were tipped in golden diamonds. Makka bounced down to the water and started splashing about again. Yuri finished up his dinner and folded up as he so often did, knees pulled to his chest and arms wrapped around them.

“There’s a beach in Hasestu,” Yuri said suddenly. “When I’m home, I go with Sichan a lot and we play fetch for hours.”

“There are lots around Petersburg too,” Victor replied. “Mostly Makka and I just go to walk around though; I was never any good at throwing sticks.”

“Mmmm,” Yuri said, humming in agreement. “Me neither. There’s a good reason why I figure skate. I don’t think I have much coordination outside of that.”

“I think you underestimate yourself,” Victor teased.

Yuri just shrugged.

“I love coming here,” he said, “but there are times when it’s just enough like home but not that I really start to miss it. Home, that is.”

“Well, you go back every winter, don’t you?” Victor asked.

Yuri nodded. “It’d be...hard if I didn’t. Five years without going home…” he paused to  shudder. “Unthinkable. I love being there too much. And talking on the phone doesn’t always cut it.”

Victor just nodded and turned back to watching Makka. On a fundamental level, he realized that this was a continuation of the conversation they’d had a few nights ago, picked up by some unspoken agreement that they weren’t done having it.

“I don’t know what I’d do without Makka,” he said. “He makes being away easier. I think it’s because for so long, it’s just been the two of us. So long as I have him, I’m not alone. Not really.”

“Well, not anymore,” Yuri said, looking over with a smile. “You have me, and Theia, and all the rest of us.”

Victor chuckled, but his heart was pounding at that line— _You have me._

“I suppose so,” he agreed.

Makka came trotting back to them and showered them with water as he shook himself dry. They both laughed and then once more lapsed into companionable silence. The sun finished setting. The first stars began dotting the sky above the horizon.

“If the rain clears up, we might get to go swimming this weekend,” Yuri said after a while.

For a moment, Victor didn’t respond, just continued to trace out patterns in the sand while his mind struggled to grasp why that was so meaningful. When at last it hit him, he looked over at Yuri, jaw dropping, not certain anymore that Yuri had said anything at all.

“Unless you don’t want to?” Yuri asked hesitantly.

“No, no I want to,” Victor objected, “But what about our—what about the tattoo?”

Yuri blinked and then understanding flooded across his face.

“Oh,” he said.

He paused again, frowning, and then looked away, back towards the waves, and the stars above them.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Yuri said. “There aren’t always that many people around here who would notice that sort of thing and care.”

Victor watched Yuri for a minute longer, uncertainty still filling his heart, debating whether he should press the issue. Before he could say anything, a boom burst across the lakefront, and fireworks filled the sky. Up and down the beach, people started cheering. Makka came bolting back to them, and Victor grabbed onto his collar so he couldn’t go running off again. He looked over at Yuri as the next set of fireworks lit up the sky. The reds and blues and golds reflected themselves in Yuri’s glasses, and his eyes, which were full of wonder.

“Down, Makka,” Victor said softly, patting the sand besides the blanket they had laid out.

If Yuri wasn’t concerned, then he didn’t need to be either. He didn’t have to be worried, there was no reason to be, so he tilted back his head and watched the fireworks as they burst across the sky.

OOO

“Wow,” Victor said when the show was over.

“I always like how they reflect on the water,” Yuri said. “One hundred rainbow-colored stars.”

Victor laughed. “You see stars in everything, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Yuri said with a smile. Around them, all the other families who had come out to watch the fireworks on the beach were packing up their stuff, but he and Yuri stayed put.

“Did you know,” Yuri said, his voice gaining a tone of authority, “that we are all made of stardust? All the carbon in the world, in the universe, it came from stars. So much of who we are, the atoms and molecules that makes us who we are, wouldn’t be without the stars.”

“I didn’t,” Victor said.

The world felt carved out then, like if it had made this soft little place on the beach just for him and Yuri to share, apart from everyone else.

“So you have a little bit of star in you and I have a little bit of star in me. Stars connect us all. They light up the dark places and pull us towards the light.”

“Sometimes,” Victor said, “I wish I could see the world the way you do. Everything sounds so beautiful when you talk about it.”

“But then you wouldn’t be you,” Yuri argued. “I see stars everywhere because that’s who I am. You hear and see poetry everywhere because that’s who you are.”

“I don’t see and hear poetry everywhere,” Victor said.

Yuri laughed. “Yes, you do. The rhythm of it is even there when you talk.”

“Really?” Victor asked.

Yuri nodded. “Everything you say sounds important. Like I should drop what I’m doing and listen.”

“Oh,” Victor said.

“We’re just different kinds of stars,” Yuri said.

“But are we in the same galaxy?” Victor asked.

“Yes,” Yuri said, and he smiled.

Victor’s heart swelled. He longed to do something, to speak, to reach out and take Yuri’s hand, to kiss him. Yuri took a gulping breath and turned away.

“I bought sparklers,” he said, reaching over to pick up the bundled package of boxes and shake it, “if you want to set them off.”

The moment was over. Victor clambered to his feet. Makka took the cue and when bolting back to the water to investigate the lights he had seen there. Yuri ripped open the plastic wrapping and chose a box at random, then picked it open and handed Victor a pair of sparklers. He dropped two on the sand for himself, and lit Victor’s set before picking them up again. They were still for a moment, framed against the night, as they held their sparklers together and Yuri tried to light his against the flames sparking out of the pair that Victor held, and then they caught.

They raced around the beach, painting circles and zigzags and other shapes against the dark canvas of the night. When the first pair ran out, they came back, and Victor lit a second set for Yuri. He turned down a pair for himself, instead fumbling with his phone to turn on some music, and to take photos of his soulmate when Yuri wasn’t looking.

_We are made of stars._

When Yuri’s died, Yuri insisted on lighting a pair for Victor, and taking pictures for him, and Victor laughed at being caught, at knowing he hadn’t been nearly as subtle as he had thought. They ran around on the beach, lighting sparklers. Sometimes together, sometimes one at a time, for at least an hour. They stood shoulder to shoulder looking down at the burnt out pile of metal sparklers when they got down to the last box. “MULTICOLORED” was written in rainbow letters across the top. A small banner to the side said “explosive fun!”

“Two more each?” Yuri asked.

Makka came sniffing about their ankles and the pile in the sand. Victor pulled the poodle back.

“Sure,” he said.

Laughter colored his words. His heart was singing. He felt like he could run forever. He was filled with the never-ending freedom of a million perfect jumps. If Yuri had suggested that they could fly, or walk on water, Victor would have very readily believed it. Yuri handed Victor a pair, then took a pair for himself. They clumped the four together, Yuri’s two in one hand and the lighter in the other.

“Ready?” Yuri asked.

Victor nodded. It was dark, but the afterglow of the sparklers lit up everything he could see, and then Yuri’s face exploded into planes and shadows as the lighter sparked. He held it close to the ends of the sparklers.

They went off with a bang and an explosion of color.

Makkachin went racing down the beach at the noise and a part of Victor’s heart lurched with worry that the poodle wouldn’t come back, but Yuri was laughing and Victor forgot about it all long enough to hear the poem in his mind.

_A star for you, a star for me_   
_Burning with brilliance_   
_Rivaling every other star in the sky_   
_Darling, you’re the_ _  
Only light I need. _

Yuri went dancing off and Victor followed. They wove their sparklers around each other until they had burned to stubs. Yuri was still laughing. Victor was too. He was blinded still by the darkness that came in so swiftly after the brightness of the stars he had just held in his hands.

“Where’s Makka?” Yuri asked after a moment.

“Did he not come back?” Victor asked.

“I can’t see him,” Yuri admitted.

“ _Derr`mo,”_ Victor cursed.

Yuri jogged back up to their little pile of sparklers and dropped his in the sand.

“Come on,” he said, holding out his hand to Victor, “we’ll find him together.”

OOO

After an hour so of searching up and down the beach for the poodle to no avail, Victor looked helplessly to Yuri.

“We should have gone after him,” Victor said.

Yuri frowned, and Victor knew he agreed, even if he wasn’t about to say so.

“Let’s just head back,” Yuri said. “Maybe he went home. Makka’s smart. He wouldn’t have just bolted anywhere. Once the panic wore off…”

“Right,” Victor said, trying to force agreement into his heart.

He shouldn’t have let himself get distracted with the sparklers, and with Yuri, and the perfection of Yuri. He should have gone running after Makkachin as soon as the loud explosion of the sparklers being lit had set him off.

Together, he and Yuri started trudging across the sand. He started when, after a moment, Yuri reached out and took his hand.

“We’ll find him, Victor,” Yuri said.

It felt like an empty promise, but Victor nodded all the same, but squeezed Yuri’s hand, warm and comforting in his own.

“Yuri, I don’t know what I’d do without him,” Victor whispered, echoing the words he had said earlier.

“I know,” Yuri said. He reached down with his free hand for his phone and pulled it out, and then chuckled softly.

“Figures,” he said.

“What?” Victor asked.

“My phone’s dead. I was going to try calling people in the neighborhood; I have a few of their numbers, and asking if they’d seen Makka, but I can’t now. I ran my battery down taking all those pictures.”

“Oh,” Victor said. He hadn’t noticed Yuri taking pictures after that first set, but he didn’t dispute it.

The night was dark, the stars scattered above them. Nearby but out of sight, the waves crashed in and out. Yuri squeezed his hand again. It was a gentle reminder, Victor knew, that Yuri was here, that Yuri would help him find Makka no matter what, that Yuri cared about the poodle just as much as Victor did, and that somehow, they would see this through together.

In the darkness, they were able to find the little path from the beach through the copse of trees separating their street from the beach and cut up it. Yuri never let go of his hand, and Victor clung to it, and the promise of solidarity that it represented.

They both paused when they heard Makka’s familiar, deep baying, and then the dark shape of the poodle distinguished itself from the porch. Yuri laughed and Victor let go of him to run to Makkachin.

“Hello, wonderful,” Victor laughed, “hello, _smut'yan.”_

Makka jumped up, dancing into his arms and Victor looked back over his shoulder to smile at Yuri, who was still laughing.

“I told you we’d find him,” Yuri said. He reached down to scratch Makka’s ears.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Victor chided, tugging on his poodle’s cheeks. “You scared me.”

Makka just leaned forward and licked Victor’s cheeks.

“To be fair,” Yuri said, “I think we scared him first.”

“Mmmm,” Victor agreed.

He crouched down to ease Makka’s weight off of his shoulders and went back to rubbing the dog’s back, and scratching his ears. He glanced back up to say something to Yuri, but the words died in his throat. Yuri had tipped his head back, no longer watching Victor and Makka’s reunion, but focused above them, on the distant stars.

“Sagittarius is supposed to be out tonight,” Yuri said softly.

Victor looked up at the scramble of stars above them, but could make no sense of where the constellation that bound them together could be found. Poetry he understood, but while he loved the stars, but he knew nothing about their intricacies.

“We should go stargazing one night,” Yuri said. “I forgot my telescope, but still.”

“Okay,” Victor said.

Yuri glanced down at him and smiled.

“Bedtime then?” he asked and Victor nodded and stood up, grabbing Makka’s collar so he could be sure to keep the dog nearby.

“Thank you,” Victor said as they climbed the steps back up to the porch.

“For what?” Yuri asked. He slipped the key in the lock and pulled the door open.

“For being you,” Victor said. “For helping.”

Yuri shrugged as they both slipped inside. Neither reached for the lights.

“It was nothing,” Yuri insisted.

“Not to me,” Victor replied.

He ducked into the guest bedroom before Yuri could protest and shut the door behind him. A moment later, he heard Yuri race up the stairs. Makka looked up at him and whined. Victor flipped on the light and collapsed on the bed, Makka clambering to lie down next to him.

“I love him so much it hurts, Makka,” Victor whispered.

The poodle just leaned forward to lick his cheeks again. He fell asleep like that; light on and his dog wrapped up in his arms. He dreamed that he was walking on the stars, and that Yuri walked besides him.

OOO

It rained on and off over the next few days. They went swimming often and in the nights they would go walking down through Herrington and the nearby parks; sometimes Yuri would pause and point out constellations. Although Victor wanted him to go more in depth, he never did, but somehow, when they started walking and talking again, that failure to continue was alright. He had Yuri here and now. That was all that really mattered.

It was a good sort of life, a comfortable domesticity that Victor found peace in. He helped Yuri cook dinner for the two of them on the nights when they didn’t go down to the chicken shack or taco stand. Best of all, though, they talked about their lives, their families and their childhoods. They were conversations that Victor had dreamed of having for nearly a year, and it was strange, in its own way, to finally get to have them, and see how they went outside of the arena of his mind.

On days when it rained, he would curl up in the living room with one of the battered books people had left over the years in the cabin’s little library. Yuri would usually settle in at the kitchen table, doing summer work for his classes, or he would collapse into the big armchair in the corner and read about the stars and the astronomers who had discovered them. Sometimes, Victor would ask Yuri about them, but mostly he didn’t. Although he loved the way Yuri’s eyes shined like stars when he talked about the things he was passionate about, it was better to watch him learn, a small smile on his face as he flipped through the pages.

Today, it was raining. It was a sharp contrast with the sunny blue skies that had lorded over them just yesterday. A fellow beachgoer who had paused to talk to them had been certain that the worst of the storms was over. Victor and Yuri had both agreed. Clearly, however, they had all been wrong.

But no matter. He wasn’t going to complain about this time spent with Yuri, listening to the rain patter against the windows as he read, and the occasional rustle of paper as Yuri flipped through a book at the table while he worked.

He had found a romance novel of some sort, something that most likely belonged to Theia, but that Victor wouldn’t have been surprised to find had been read and discarded by Patrick some summers ago. It was a good book; a compelling, action based plot outside of the love story, well developed characters, incredible writing style. The problem was...the problem was…

He sighed as he fiddled with the corner of the page before he shut his eyes, then dumped the book open face down onto the coffee table. The rain pattering against the windows was calming, and Yuri’s presence at the kitchen table was comforting, but neither did anything to soothe his growing unease. Needing to move, to do _something,_ he stood, stretched, and wandered over to where Yuri was working. He waited, watching for a moment, before he pulled out a chair and sat down next to his friend. Yuri glanced over at him and then back at the screen of his computer. His book lay open next to him.

“What’s wrong?” Yuri asked.

“Nothing,” Victor replied.

He folded his arms and rested his head on them. He couldn’t read, not when he knew what turn the story was about to take. He just wanted to watch Yuri work. It felt safer. Happier. He liked the routine they had fallen into this past week or so. Theia had called; she wasn’t coming back. She wanted to be in Detroit, with Maria, where she could ensure he soulmate’s continued well-being herself.

“Something’s wrong,” Yuri said, turning to look at him fully.

“If you’re wondering why I stopped reading, it’s because I got bored,” Victor said.

“No, you didn’t,” Yuri said, cocking his head to the side. “You were laughing about something just a minute ago, and you smiled. You were immersed. You only do that when you’re totally into what you’re reading.”

Victor stared at Yuri openly for a moment, trying to process the fact that Yuri paid enough attention to him to have picked up his reading habits. Yuri blushed.

“I’m a scientist; I notice things,” he muttered.

“I—” Victor started.

“Forget it,” Yuri said. He started turning back to his computer. “I’m just being silly.”

“No, you’re not,” Victor replied softly.

A gust of wind came along and rattled the windows. They both leaned forward to look out the window for a moment at the storm raging outside, but then Yuri turned back to his work once more. Victor watched him for a moment, then let his eyes flutter shut and listened to the even clack of Yuri’s fingers against the keys and the uneven tapping of the rain against the windows.

“Do you ever not want to know how a story ends?” Victor asked.

Yuri’s clacking went away, but Victor didn’t open his eyes even as he felt the full weight of Yuri’s gaze settle upon him.

“No,” Yuri said. “I like knowing things. I like having answers.”

“Because you’re a scientist,” Victor said.

“Partly,” Yuri replied. “It helps my anxiety too though.”

“Someone once told me that Keats’ whole point behind ‘Ode on a Grecian Urn’ was to challenge readers with not knowing things, with having open meanings.”

“That’s interesting,” Yuri said.

Victor slid open his eyes and glanced up at Yuri.

“I can’t finish reading,” he whispered.

“Why?” Yuri asked. His voice was soft, and gentle. It reminded Victor of the rain.

“Because something bad is about to happen,” Victor said, “and if I don’t keep reading, then the bad thing never happens, and everyone stays happy.”

Yuri set aside his computer and folded his arms like Victor’s. He rested his chin on them too, but he didn’t lie his head across them, like Victor had.

“But it’s still happening,” Yuri said. “Even if you don’t turn the page, it still happens.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Victor whispered. “Something else could happen. Something good.”

He closed his eyes and tried to picture it, that something good, that happy ending.

“How do you know something good won’t happen after all the bad?” Yuri asked.

Oh, he was just like the rain; soft and sweet against Victor’s troubled mind like the summer rains were against the parched earth.

“Let’s go stand in the rain, Yuri,” Victor said.

“What are you afraid of happening in your story?” Yuri asked.

“Let’s go stand in the rain,” Victor said again. He opened his eyes met Yuri’s even, piercing gaze.

“What are you afraid of?” Yuri asked. His voice had fallen to a hushed whisper.

Victor’s eyes flicked towards the window, and the rain that tapped upon it.

“Someone’s heart is about to get broken,” Victor whispered back.

“It could get fixed again,” Yuri said.

Victor trained his eyes on the streaks of rain falling down the window.

“How do you know it will be?” he asked.

“I don’t,” Yuri admitted, “but you’ll never know if you don’t keep reading.”

Victor hummed in agreement, but he didn’t look at his friend. He heard the scrape of the chair being pushed back and the creak of the boards as Yuri stood, and then jumped at the feeling of Yuri wrapping his hand around Victor’s. He glanced up at Yuri then, eyes wide with the unspoken question.

“Come on,” Yuri said with a smile, “let’s go stand in the rain.”

Victor stared at him for a moment, assessing the meaning behind the offer, and then nodded. He allowed Yuri to tug him to his feet, and then out the door. Beyond the awning of the porch, the rain did not come down in sheets, but in even drops. He flinched instinctively the moment they stepped into it, but then it washed over him, clean and inviting, just like Yuri’s presence, and he laughed.

Yuri was laughing too when Victor glanced over at him, and in a moment, they were off, running down the road to splash in the puddles that had formed in the intersection, dodging out of the way of the cars that came rushing by every now and then.

After a while, the rain died downed and, soaked, he and Yuri trudged back to the cabin. They kicked off their shoes on the porch, but were still dripping when they stepped inside. Yuri chuckled.

“I’m going to go change,” he said, starting for the steps to the loft and Victor nodded.

He slipped into the side bedroom to change. Makka, who had been napping on the bed, lifted his head and thumped his tail a few times before settling down again. Victor reached over and scratched behind the poodle’s ears quickly before he pulled open the dresser drawers.

“Good thing you didn’t come out with us,” he said. “We wouldn’t have been able to get you dry for hours.”

He changed quickly and checked the time before he headed back out in the living area. It was getting late. He and Yuri would have to scrounge up something for dinner soon.

“Yuri—” he started, and then stopped.

Yuri was standing halfway up the stairs, looking at his phone like if it was something from a different age, or a different life.

“Yuri?” He asked again, more hesitantly this time.

Yuri was a silent for a moment, glancing briefly and uncomprehendingly at Victor and then back at is phone.

“Patrick called,” he said and he sounded very far away. Victor’s stomach dropped out.

“What happened?” Victor asked.

“He got through the trails. He’s going to Brazil.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a few fun things about this chapter: 
> 
> The part where Makka goes bolting off because of Unexpected Sparkler Noise? That actually happened to me with my dog this summer, except, like, we actually went running after her because she's a black lab and we didn't want somebody to hit her in the dark. The sparkler scene is general was def inspired by the end credits from the show, but the song I always put with it (in my mind) is Levitate by Imagine Dragons. 
> 
> The last part of this chapter almost wasn't in this chapter. It was just an extra I wrote this fall. But Muse thought it was perfect for this part so we kept it :)


	23. Chapter 23

Tension bloomed between he and Yuri in the final days of their trip that followed Patrick’s announcement. Over what, Victor couldn’t say for sure, but it was there. The easy domesticity was stilted. Yuri seemed distracted more than anything. Patrick would only be home briefly before he would leave again to go back to training, and his return would be while Yuri and Victor were still down at the cabin. They considered leaving early, but there was so much they needed to do still to close everything down before Seamus’ final visit in the fall that ultimately it just didn’t seem worth it. 

It was a relief to go back home to Pontiac, and the gritty streets of campus town. He said only a brief goodbye when Yuri dropped him off, and then holed up in his apartment to write the poems that had been swirling around in his mind the entire ride home in solitude. The skating season had technically started back up again, and there was work to do before the Grand Prix series bore down upon him. 

Phichit was happy he was back, though, and as July came to a close, Victor, Yuri, and their younger friend spent more and more time together, wandering around the parks, going biking on the trails, bouncing ideas for skating off of each other. With August came the return of Yurio, and the Olympics. Theia came up to watch the opening ceremonies with them at Yuri and Phichit’s apartment and it was a sight to behold. They cheered when they noticed Patrick walking with the US team; he looked like a little kid who’d gotten an early Christmas. Still though, when Victor glanced over at Yuri, there was something sad in his friend’s eyes. 

In the following days, they got together whenever Patrick had an event, or sat around in the evenings in Yuri and Phichit’s little living room eating something Yuri had made or they had ordered together, watching whatever event was on and talking about the competitors. Nolan Laoch, a hero of Patrick’s and a triathlete, was  discussed frequently, as well as Phichit’s adoration for the American gymnastic team. It was an exciting time, somehow, and it left Victor eager for the season, and for PyeongChang in the coming two years. 

At practice, they all talked about skating together. “Show me how you did this,” and “can you help me do that.” There was a camaraderie between them all now that hadn’t been there at the close of last summer. Victor smiled to himself whenever he saw Yurio studiously watching Yuri’s step sequences, and couldn’t help but remember the way Yurio had once scowled and turned up his nose at even coming here. He still put on his bad attitude, but it felt, at times, more like a show than anything else. His Junior debut would be this year, and his desire to make it memorable was palpable to the rest of them. 

Together, they bounced ideas off of each other, looking for what was perfect. Phichit settled on “progress,” Victor, after reflecting on his year and his time spent with Yuri, went with “joy.” Yurio, in all his glazing ambition, went for “Victory,” which gave them all a good laugh, but Yuri hesitated the most. 

“It just doesn’t seem right,” he say after every suggestion, or after thinking about the ideas he had proposed. 

So while the rest of them started working on choreography for programs with Ciao Ciao and the other army of coaches, Victor stuck with Yuri, thinking about jumps and step sequences, ignoring the tension that still remained strung tight between them, and pretending that he didn’t notice as Yuri grew more withdrawn as the month wore on. 

Theia returned early, before school started to move into her new place--a named house, along the row by the lake. Maria came along as well, and they went to Colonel’s to celebrate. Maria, Victor quickly discovered, was loud, irreverent, and unafraid to get to right to the heart of a matter. At the same time though, she was gentle, and attentive, and clearly cared for Theia and the rest of them very dearly. She reminded Victor of Chris, a little, but still remained in his mind uniquely herself. As it was, they became fast friends, and for once, Victor’s attention was not focused so singlehandedly on Yuri, but on the woman before him, who demanded his attention like if it was her birthright.

Yuri seemed to fade away after dinner, slipping back home even when the rest of them popped over to Graeme’s for ice cream. 

“Is Yuri alright?” Theia asked, raising her voice to be heard over the crowd of voices standing in line in the little shop. “He’s been...distant lately. I don’t know. I’m just worried about him.”

She glanced at Victor and he shrugged. His guess was as good as hers, but he was thankful that she had put the question to the group, thankful that he wasn’t the only one who felt a little uneasy about Yuri’s attitude. 

“He hasn’t talked to Patrick in a while, I know,” Phichit said. “They just keep missing each other. It’s like playing phone tag. Every time he calls, Patrick doesn’t pick up, and Patrick only ever seems to call when Yuri’s at practice.”

Theia frowned. “I hope they’re alright,” she said. 

“I’m sure they are, babe,” Maria said, twirling some of Theia’s hair around her palm. She tugged on it gently when she ran out of room. “You know how Patrick is; very excitable, and forgetful. He’s probably just getting too caught up in the excitement of it all.”

“Right,” Theia said, but she didn’t sound convinced. 

“Patrick is supposed to come home tomorrow,” Phichit said, looking between them all. “If there’s anything going on, they’ll sort it out then. Patrick can be inattentive when he gets too caught up in the moment, and Yuri probably just misses him. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Right,” Theia said again. 

She glanced up at Victor for a moment, and he could see the questions in her eyes, about him and Yuri. He shook his head a little, an apt answer to all of them. No, nothing had happened between he and Yuri at the cabin. No, he did not think anything had changed between he and Yuri. No, he didn’t want to talk about it any further right now. 

Later, maybe, if Theia wanted to press him for his side of the story, but not now. Not while there was a chance that Phichit, and Yurio, and Maria could hear them, although seeing Theia with her soulmate left the question in his mind of how much Theia had told Maria about him and Yuri already. 

Their number came up and Theia stepped up to order. Maria made a comment about an ice cream place she liked back in New York, but how this stuff was always better and they all laughed. The conversation shifted away from Yuri, but Victor could tell from the probing glances Theia threw his way for the rest of the night that that’s where her mind still lingered, and a small, pitiful part of him lingered over it too. 

OOO

Patrick had barely spoken to Yuri directly in the last week.  It had been like pulling teeth to figure out when his plane would be landing, and even then Patrick had only given him the approximate time after Yuri had pointed out that he had Patrick’s car, and it was pointless and expensive to get a taxi or Uber to drive him all the way back to Pontiac from the airport. Even so, Yuri had been careful to arrive early and to check the arrival gates for himself. It was silly, and stupid, but somehow Yuri couldn’t shake the feeling that Patrick would try and stand him up. At the airport. Where Yuri was supposed to pick him up. When they had been dating for...what was it? Almost three years now? More? He was always losing track of time. With Patrick, it had always felt like a forever sort of thing. Time didn’t matter when it was forever. 

He hadn’t bought a sign. He should have. But he hadn’t. Signs were Patrick’s thing. But he should have bought a sign. He didn’t know what he would have written on it; Patrick was better at the puns. He should have bought a sign. He had some balloons. Were balloons okay? He felt like they were okay, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe he should ditch them before Patrick saw him. He should have asked Theia to come with him. But would it have been awkward to have Theia come with him? Probably. Probably it would have been awkward since he certainly had plans to just...stay with Patrick tonight. 

Well, probably. Maybe Patrick was tired. Maybe he wouldn’t want to stay up all night. Maybe he should just drop Patrick off and go home. 

The balloons were stupid. He should have bought a sign. Patrick always had a sign for him (where was Patrick, anyways?). He should have checked with Theia before he left. Theia was always in the right vein of things to do when picking up your boyfriend (or Girlfriend? In Theia’s case?) from the airport. 

(Had he told Patrick about Maria? He was pretty sure he had told Patrick about Maria. Would Patrick want an update on her? He struggled to remember how Maria had seemed this weekend the few times he had seen her. He couldn’t. Maybe should text Theia and ask.)

He should have bought a sign. Maybe he could ditch the balloons. There was a trash can over there. But would they fit? Would people wonder why he was trying to throw away balloons? Definitely. Definitely they would wonder. Not to mention, they were helium filled. They probably wouldn’t go in unless he weighed them down with something. 

He could always pop them. 

But no. Popping would be too loud. Intentionally popping balloons would draw more attention than trying to throw them away. And then he would just be left with a handful of popped balloons that he would then have to throw away. And also, people would think the popping was shooting. They could think that, right? Did popping balloons sound like shooting? 

He should have bought a sign. A sign was easier to dispose of than balloons, anyways, if he ultimately had decided that it wasn’t right. Or he could have bought it and left it in the back of the car so that if Patrick had wanted one he could just say he had forgotten it or if Patrick hadn’t wanted one it wouldn’t be weird between them. 

Were things already weird between them? They hadn’t talked in a few days. Usually they talked every day when they were apart. Or, well, no. Usually, Yuri called Patrick every night when he was at a competition. Maybe Patrick didn’t like that? Was that it? 

He shouldn’t have bought balloons. He just looked stupid. Stupid college student standing here with a handful of balloons way too early for his boyfriend’s—

“Yuri.”

Oh. Oh, well, there was Patrick, standing a few feet away, looking tired and travel worn, but still Patrick. In the flesh. After months of only seeing him on phone screens and only hearing his voice through a grainy speaker. 

“Hey,” Yuri said. 

He tried to smile, but it didn’t feel like a smile. He shouldn’t have bought the balloons. He looked stupid. Patrick was just too polite to say so. 

“Nice balloons,” Patrick said. 

“They’re for you,” Yuri said, holding them out. 

“Thanks,” Patrick said. He smiled a little. Just a small, sad one. 

He looked over Yuri, something unreadable in his eyes, and then closed the distance between them. 

“I told you you didn’t have to come,” Patrick said. 

“I wanted to,” Yuri replied softly. 

Why hadn’t Patrick kissed him yet? That’s usually how their reunions went. Always at least one kiss. Patrick was easily one of the most affectionate people in the world. He liked to hold onto people. He liked to kiss Yuri. Why were they being so awkward? Was it because of the balloons? Had they been too much? Why hadn’t he kissed Yuri yet?

Patrick nodded and fiddled with the strap of his backpack. It was grey. They had had a blue one, Yuri knew, but Patrick’s favorite color was green, so he had gone the grey route. Everyone always picked blue, after all. They had talked about this for an hour before he had left for the trials, what gear he would want if he got to go. 

“My stuff should be at baggage claim by now,” Patrick said. 

His eyes kept shifting away. Something in Yuri’s heart tightened. His stomach dropped out. 

“Okay,” he said. 

He and Patrick walked side by side towards that section of the airport. The balloons trailed after them. They really had been a stupid idea. Why wasn’t Patrick saying anything? He must have stories to tell; Patrick always had stories to tell. Or at least something to say. For all his introvertedness, Patrick could talk a mile a minute. Patrick liked talking. It was just an essential part of who Patrick was. Why hadn’t he kissed Yuri yet? 

They stood next to each other in front of the carousel without speaking. The balloons bobbed together in the breeze from the vent near them. He shouldn’t have bought balloons. Why hadn’t Patrick kissed him?

“How was it?” Yuri asked as they waited for Patrick’s luggage to come around. 

“What?” Patrick asked, peering over at him. 

“It,” Yuri said, gesturing vaguely. The balloons bumped together with the motion and he glanced up at them in annoyance before looking back at Patrick. “They Olympics. Rio. How was it?”

“Oh,” Patrick said. He shifted from foot to foot, as he always did when his thoughts were running too fast and he didn’t know how to put them in order, let alone say them out loud. “Good,” he said. 

Oh. Oh Patrick never settled for ‘good’ when he had too many thoughts unless he really didn’t know how to share them, and usually he only didn’t know how to share his thoughts when he thought they wouldn’t be received well. Usually Patrick just ran his mouth and ended up oversharing. A lot. Something that felt distinctly like bile rose in the back of Yuri’s throat. 

“Good,” he forced himself to say. 

Patrick nodded and the motion was somewhere between overly enthusiastic and awkwardly aggressive. They had been dating for nearly three years, known each other for even longer, and never once had Yuri felt this uncomfortable around Patrick, not even on the day they met, when Patrick had stumbled on him sobbing on the bathroom floor during new student orientation. 

They were saved from further awkwardness by the arrival of Patrick’ luggage. Yuri saw it first and he pointed it out to Patrick with a soft murmur. Patrick breathed a quick thanks and grabbed it. They walked besides each other towards the exit. The balloons bounced behind Yuri and he wished he had popped them when he had the chance. Patrick still hadn’t kissed him. Why hadn’t Patrick kissed him. 

The tattoo on the back of his shoulder burned, and he thought of Victor. Victor would have kissed him by now. 

_ You’d choose me, wouldn’t you, Victor? Every time? _

_ Yes. Yes I would.  _

He pushed the thought—and the memory—away quickly. Patrick. Patrick was the one walking besides him, the one who had thoughts on his mind that he wasn’t sharing. 

“Where’d you park?” Patrick asked. 

“B lot,” Yuri said and Patrick nodded. 

Was it sad that they had been to this airport often enough that they knew where all the lots were by heart? His stomach rolled. He wished he could ask Patrick to wait, so he could use the bathroom, but the voice in the back of Yuri's mind was too afraid that Patrick would take off the moment he wasn’t looking. Besides, what would he do with the balloons? The more he thought about it, the more stupid the decision to bring balloons was, and yet, in the moment, it had seemed like a pretty great idea. He shouldn’t have bought the balloons. He wished he could go back and time and not buy them. 

Behind them, an airplane took off. The screeching noise of it blasting away seemed to rip the universe in half. Yuri paused to look at it, and Patrick tromped on a few steps ahead of him before turning around to see what Yuri was looking at. 

“Yuri,” Patrick said. 

Flying seemed like a really nice idea right now. Not in a plane; just on his own. Up among the clouds, even though the air was so thin breathing would get hard. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the next closest thing: a good jump, the breeze whipping past his face. 

“Yuri,” Patrick said again. 

He could always just let go of the balloons. They were outside now; the balloons would just go floating away. Problem solved. He tried to get his fingers to let go of the strings, but he couldn’t. 

“Yuri,” Patrick said a third time. 

His breath brushed warm over Yuri’s face, and Yuri opened his eyes. Patrick was not smiling. He looked hesitant, a little stricken, a little afraid, but he stood closer than he had since he had arrived. Yuri leaned forward and kissed him. 

For a moment, it was just...nothing. Patrick didn’t kiss him back, but then he did, and the tight thing in Yuri’s chest eased. 

“Welcome home,” Yuri murmured when he pulled away. 

Patrick smiled the same sad, sweet smile from earlier. 

“Thank you for bringing me balloons,” Patrick said. 

“I should have made a sign,” Yuri said. 

“The balloons are still nice,” Patrick said. 

He glanced up at them, and there was something sad in his eyes, but sometimes, that something sad was just there. That was another essential part of Patrick. Sometimes, the world swallowed him whole and it took him a while to pull himself out. 

“How are you?” Yuri asked. 

“Tired,” Patrick replied. 

Yuri smiled. “Let’s get you home, then,” he said, and Patrick smiled and nodded too. 

Together, they walked towards the truck parked in the B lot. Yuri asked questions. Patrick responded to them in the usual soft voice of his he got when the world had taken too much from him. Yuri’s stomach slinked back to its usual pace. His heart stopped running ahead of him. There wasn’t anything to worry about. Sometimes, Patrick was just like this. 

He fiddled with the radio when they got in the truck and before they pulled out of the lot. He wanted Patrick to kiss him, to just waste time making out with his boyfriend in the airport parking lot after being apart for so long and to laugh about the truly ridiculous amount of balloons bobbing between them, but Patrick just leaned his forehead on the window and closed his eyes. Yuri just leaned over and squeezed his hand. 

_ I’m here.  _ He wanted to say.  _ I’m right here.  _

The top forty chased them all the way back to Pontiac, filling what space between them that wasn’t already consumed with the balloons. Yuri focused on driving into the setting sun. There were stars in the sky by the time he pulled up in front of Patrick’s apartment. A part of him wondered if maybe he should have gone to Ann Arbor to Seamus’ house, but he had gotten on the road towards Pontiac before the thought had even occurred to him and by then it was too late. 

Besides, he just wanted to have this night alone with Patrick, even if they just curled up together and fell asleep. 

He unclipped his seat belt and was reaching for the strings of the balloons when Patrick spoke. 

“Yuri, we need to talk,” he said. 

Yuri peered around the balloons at Patrick. His heart had started racing again. Something about Patrick’s tone, and those words. 

“About what?” he asked, trying to force his voice to be upbeat, to be casual, to be unconcerned. 

There was a part of his mind saying that the balloons had been a stupid idea again. 

“I met my soulmate,” Patrick said. 

He wasn’t looking at Yuri. He was looking at his hands, which were palm up on his lap, like if he was trying to read notes that he had written on them, like he always was, but they were blank. 

“What?” Yuri asked. 

Was this really happening? 

The song playing on the radio—he knew it. He had danced to it once, with Victor, in a club, when he had been pretty close to wasted. Why was it playing now? He should turn it off. He wanted to, but he couldn’t move. 

_ I met my soulmate.  _

As if knowing what was going through Yuri’s mind, Patrick looked up at him, almost defiantly. 

(He had looked defiant on the podium when he had gotten his medal, as if to say, ‘Ha! The world has thrown its worst at me and here I am. Take that, world.’ Yuri had been proud of him.)

“I met my soulmate,” Patrick said again.  

The words cut through Yuri like a blade. He was going to be sick. 

_ I think if he had to choose, Patrick would pick his soulmate over me. _

“When?” Yuri felt himself saying. 

It was a stupid question. He knew when. It had been in—

“Rio,” Patrick said. 

“Who is it?” Yuri asked. 

But that was a stupid question, too. He knew who it was. It could only be—

“Nolan Laoch,” Patrick said. 

Of course. Patrick’s hero. Gay triathlete extraordinaire. He had as many gold medals as Victor. Possibly more. He had won gold at Rio. Won gold at London. Been a rising star before then. He had come from nothing and made himself something. There was a poster of him next to the TV in Patrick’s apartment. 

“Yuri?” Patrick asked. 

_ Did you sleep with him?  _ That’s what Yuri wanted to ask. He was afraid to though, in part because he thought he already knew the answer. His throat was burning. 

“Yuri?” Patrick asked again. 

Something rolled down his cheek, and another something. He could see the speckles of stars through the windshield, rising above the trees at the end of the street. 

“Yuri, say something,” Patrick said. 

A month. A month he had stayed with his own soulmate alone in a cabin and hung out with him and made dinner with him and eaten tacos with him at the stand that he and Patrick had liked and never once breathed a word about the reality of the situation to anyone else. No one knew. No one knew that Victor was his soulmate because the only person it mattered to was Victor, who seemed to be surprisingly okay with Yuri choosing Patrick over him, even if Yuri sometimes felt terrible about it. Almost a year, he had known his soulmate, become closer with him at Patrick’s urging, and now this. 

“Yuri, please,” Patrick said. 

The balloons were piled between them and Patrick pushed them aside. 

“Yuri,” he breathed. 

He reached out to brush away Yuri’s tears—how many times had he done exactly that?—and Yuri jolted away. 

“Did you—” 

God, he couldn’t say it. In his mind’s eye, he could see it, the two of them tangled up in the sheets, clothes forgotten. This wasn’t a question he could ask. He closed his eyes, shut out the stars, the familiar cab of Patrick’s truck, the balloons, the vision, all of it. 

Patrick sighed, and it was all the confirmation Yuri needed. 

“I should go,” Yuri said numbly. 

He reached for the door handle, wrapped his fingers around its familiar metal. Patrick’s fingers closed around his sleeve before he could push it open and Yuri went still. Patrick’s knuckles brushed against the skin of his arm. He stiffened.

“Yuri, please—”

“Please let go of me,” Yuri said. 

His voice was steady, despite the knot in his throat. He held onto that. He would break down as soon as he was out of the truck, but until then, he would be calm, and he would be steady. 

“Yuri,” Patrick started again. 

“Let go, Patrick,” Yuri said. 

There was a pause, and then Patrick let go. Yuri pushed open the door and slipped out. He half expected the balloons to come soaring out after him, but they didn’t. Maybe Patrick had held onto them. Yuri didn’t turn around to check; he just started walking towards home. He half expected Patrick to come running after him, balloons in hand, but he didn’t. Maybe Patrick couldn’t get out through all of those balloons. He didn’t care. He just kept walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sniff* Patrick is a dumb butt. 
> 
> Anyways...there's going to be a Patrick Extra for this chapter that I need to finish writing that's going to be...how he met Nolan and everything that came after. I'll have it up by this weekend.


	24. **Patrick Extra**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: indirect attempted suicide mention. 
> 
> Also, Muse didn't edit this, so I'm sorry for typos/inconsistencies.

It was a ridiculously warm night, but, then again, it was Rio. Rio, Patrick had quickly discovered, was a ridiculously warm place. He was done racing for now. He’d have a few days break, and then he’d be back, but for now, well…

It was the Olympics, and Patrick had never been one to  _ not _ enjoy himself.

There was a party going tonight (it felt, sometimes, as though there was a party going somewhere every night). Eleanor—a fellow runner and Illinois native—had dragged him out with her tonight, not that he had really objected. No, the problem with going out with Eleanor, Patrick reflected as he looked out at the crowd of people in front of him, was that Eleanor was fairly small, and therefore, fairly easy to lose in a mess of people.

He sighed and glanced down at the drinks in his hands. She’d asked him to get one for her when he got up to get his own, and he had, but now he was back to where they had been sitting, drinks in hand, and she was gone. He didn’t know how to find her. He was half-tempted to not even try. He hadn’t known Eleanor for very long, but he did know that she had a tendency to wander off, especially when she thought she saw someone she thought she know.

He rolled his eyes as he settled back down in his chair (thankfully no one had come to claim it in his absence) and place Eleanor’s drink carefully on the table in front of him. She would be back. Probably.

While he waited, Patrick rested his chin on his palm and stared at the crowd of people that overflowed in the space in front of him. There were so many people here, more than he was usually comfortable with, and he felt tired just looking at them. Tired enough that he wished Yuri was here so he could curl up in his boyfriend’s arms.

But Yuri wasn’t here. Yuri was back home in Pontiac, so busy these days with getting ready for school to start and this year’s figure skating season that they barely talked, if ever. They’d barely talked while Yuri had been at the cabin too. Evidentially, Yuri had been having too much fun taking his much needed break, and besides that, Patrick had been too busy getting ready for all of this to for either of them to hold the other accountable. And even then, well…they’d been drifting apart since their fight this spring. Still in love, just…

He closed his eyes to shut off the thought. That’s what he had always done when his mind turned down a path he didn’t want to think about. Close his eyes, just for a second or two, like closing the lid on the trash bin. Poof. Thought gone.

He wished that Eleanor would come back as he peeled his eyes back open and continued watching the crowd, now with increasing dismay. He really only had the strength to be friendly around people when he was around someone he liked, especially when he was getting into the mood he could feel himself getting into. Eleanor’s energy was infectious, or “infections” as Theia would have said. Patrick smiled a little at the thought, but it wasn’t enough. No sign of Eleanor in the crowd either, and although Patrick could see some familiar faces in the mass (people who he had been introduced to and who’s names he had quickly forgotten), he didn’t see anyone he had even an inkling of an inclination to get to know better.

He pulled out his phone and fiddled around a few different apps for a while while he tried to think of how likely it would be to catch Yuri awake this late. It was so hard to say, sometimes, Most of the time, Yuri was up late reading or gaming or just hanging out with Phichit. Some nights, though, without any reasoning that Patrick could detect, Yuri was in bed and out by 9:00, and if Patrick knew anything about his boyfriend, it was that Yuri hated being woken up before he was ready. Patrick had tried to kiss Yuri awake once and had been rewarded by almost getting smacked in the eye.

Even if Yuri was awake, though, it seemed just as likely that he wouldn’t answer Patrick’s call. His phone seemed to be dead a lot lately, or just something Yuri failed to pay close attention to in general.

But Patrick was bored, and he was lonely, and he had always been one to hold out foolish hope. He tapped out a message to Yuri , sent it, and waited to see if he would get a reply.

He felt like he was fishing for a date more than texting his boyfriend of two years.

“Patrick!”

He glanced up to see Eleanor emerging from the crowd, looking distinctly flushed. She had managed to acquire a drink all on her own, and she clutched it one hand.

“Patrick, I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” She trilled.

“Well, I’ve been here,” Patrick replied, plastering a smile on his face. Inside, he was groaning.

In the time since he had last seen her, Eleanor had gone from being pleasantly tipsy to all-out drunk. As a general rule, Patrick hated dealing with drunk people (with the sole exceptions of Yuri and Theia, and even dealing with Theia was pushing it). Drunk people were just…sloppy. They said stupid things. The couldn’t keep a handle on themselves. They couldn’t keep up with him as he jumped from idea to idea, as he was prone to do

(Actually, Yuri could usually keep up, no matter how drunk he was, which was a skill that never failed to impress and please Patrick, as well as provide an endless source of amusement when drunk Yuri very seriously responded to Patrick’s silly suggestions).

“Of course you have been,” Eleanor said though, giggling.

Patrick resisted the urge to sink back into his chair and pretend he did not exist, just so he could stop interacting with her. He checked his phone though, just in case Yuri was about to provide him with a quick getaway.

No such luck.

Patrick was still staring at his phone with some sort of nonspecific disappointment when Eleanor grabbed his arm.

“Come on,” she said, “you  _ need _ to come with me right now.”

Patrick was certain that he protested as she pulled him out of his seat, certain that he dug in his heels and tried to stay put, but Eleanor was stronger than she looked, and ignored everything he did or said.

‘Come on,” she said again, still giggling.

She had a devious smile on her face. Patrick struggled to imagine a positive outcome to whatever mess she was dragging him into. He couldn’t, though, and he wished more than ever that he had begged off earlier, that he had just left and called Yuri when he had first returned and found Eleanor missing.

But Eleanor just kept dragging him through the sea of people, pushing bodied out of her way whenever necessary, and not always politely. Within seconds, Patrick was lost. He wasn’t certain he could have found his way ack to his seat anymore even if he did manage to make a getaway. He had no idea where Eleanor thought she was taking him. He was afraid to know.

And then, inexplicably, she stopped.

At some point, she had dragged him out onto a quieter part of the terrace where the party was being held. The summer breeze pushed its way though his hair and kissed his cheeks. Around and below him, the lights of the buildings of the athlete’s village and the city glinted like stars. He was reminded, suddenly, of going to the lake house the first summer after he had permanently moved to Michigan. He had been to the lake house plenty of summers before, of course, but that summer had been different. That had been a bad summer for him. He’d still been recovering from…recovering from everything that had happened that year, everything that had been building up inside him from the last few years, everything that had finally come spilling out, and now suddenly trying to adapt to the idea that life was going to be different now.

He had still been trying to remember what it felt like to be normal, that summer. He hadn’t been certain at the time that “normal” was a state he could ever return to again. And in the middle of it all, in the middle of feeling lost and afraid and alone, there had been a night when he had just gone out to the beach and stayed there until the dawn light send the shadows of the trees stretching across the sand towards him like devil’s hands. He had stayed out there all night, listening to the sounds of the waves, and trying to convince himself that he would be okay.

He closed his eyes and leaned into the memory, the feeling it stirred in his chest.

_ I will be okay,  _ he thought to himself.

He felt mostly fine now, had been feeling mostly fine for months, but it never hurt to remind himself of the fact.

“Nolan, honey,” Eleanor said, and Patrick’s heart skipped a beat as he imagined who she might be talking to. Why she might be talking to them.

There had been a few people in this little corner of the terrace, near the edge, with a wide railing crammed with forgotten drinks, but Patrick struggled to remember faces now, particularly if any of them had been his idol’s. But he had been too caught up in the memory, in the night, to notice anything else.

He didn’t open his eyes. He just kept leaning into the warm breeze, letting it wash over him.

_ I will be okay,  _ he told himself again.

He could hear Eleanor talking to someone besides him, but their voices were lost to the roar of the crowd, apparent only now as he discovered silence, and he was too focused on everything else to pay attention to Eleanor anyways. Too busy paying attention to the breeze, to the people taking behind them, and the music that drifted over their heads and which reached Patrick’s ears like a dull whisper.

He could feel every one of Eleanor’s fingers, wrapped around his elbow. A little sweaty from the night, a little stick from alcohol.

And then she let go.

He blinked in surprise at the sudden change—soft evening air where her clammy fingers had been just seconds before. He glanced about in surprise, trying to see where she had gone, and why she had let go, but then his breath caught.

Nolan Laoch was standing next to him now, leaning with his back to the terrace railing, and smiling at him, Patrick.

“It’s Patrick, right?” Nolan asked him.

Patrick just nodded numbly.

He was starting to hear the city now, singing to him on the summer wind around and below him. It sang in a different way than Chicago had, but Patrick’s heart ached to hear that clamber of life again. He had spent too long in the suburbs, spent too long in the hazy life of mowed lawns and sidewalks lined with oak trees. He had forgotten what it felt like to exist in the heart of a behemoth made of concrete, steel, and stone.

Nolan held out his hand.

“I’m Nolan,” Nolan said.

Patrick stared at that hand for a long time, hardly believing that it, or any of this, was real.

“I know who you are,” Patrick said eventually. His voice was a rasp.

But he did know who Nolan was. Nolan, two years his senior, had started catching the eyes of the media from an early age. He’d won gold at the first youth Olympic games in 2010. When Patrick had been trying to figure out how to piece his life together, Nolan had been gaining the momentum to make it big, and he had. Not even leukemia had slowed him down. Nolan was Patrick’s hero.

But now, Nolan just smiled, and chuckled a little to himself. He looked at loss for words, which in Patrick’s mind was odd, considering that he was a nobody and Nolan…Nolan was his hero. Why would his idol look so nervous in from of  _ him?  _ It should have been the other way around, right?

Patrick was still trying to figure out what to say—because really, he should have said  _ something _ by now—when Nolan spoke.

“You have my tattoos,” Nolan said. “Or, I guess, I have your tattoos.”

All of the air rushed out of Patrick’s lungs at once. Because…because, well, it sounded like Nolan was implying that they…that they…

But no. No. No way. Not way was  _ Nolan Freaking Laoch _ saying what Patrick thought he was saying.

“Patrick?” Nolan asked, looking a little uncertain.

He looked so like Yuri then that Patrick’s heart ached a little. Pleading, almost, that Patrick acknowledge what he had just said. Patrick just blinked, trying to bring himself back to reality, back to this moment.

“I don’t—”Patrick started.

“I have your tattoos,” Nolan said again, more firmly this time.

He reached over and ran a finger along the inside of his right bicep, wrinkling the fabric of the shirt he wore, as if to illustrate this point.

“’Run Free,’” Nolan continued, “right here, and ‘Run Happy’ on the other side.”

He bit his lip when he finished, brow furrowed, in a way that Patrick couldn’t help but note was achingly cute. He looked truly concerned now that Patrick might not actually be the person he was looking for. But Patrick knew he was. The ink on his arms had practically sang as Nolan had marked where it showed on his skin too.

“You have these?” Patrick asked, reaching over and rolling up his sleeves with fumbling fingers.

He had gotten the first—the ‘Run Free’ tattoo—a month or so after he had met Yuri. They had gone together, because he had been afraid of the pain. Yuri had held his hand the entire time. After Patrick was done, Yuri had gotten his Sagittarius tattoo. It seemed like ages ago that they had done that together. Back before they had started dating, back before Yuri had stopped believing in soulmates, back when Patrick had first discovered what it meant to fall in love.

The ‘Run Happy’ had come later. He had always run in Brooks and that was their tagline. It made it happy to see, so he had wanted to have it etched on his skin forever. But it had also been a prayer, more than anything else—a prayer that one day he would be important enough to matter to a sponsor, or to do something  _ really  _ big. He had been lying in bed, Yuri draped on top of him, when he had dreamed it up. Yuri had traced his finger along the then-plain skin  of Patrick’s bicep and wished that Patrick had been born under a different constellation, if only so he could get another tattoo too.

It was strange to hear Nolan, of all people, referencing them now, and strange to be deliberately showing them off to someone other than Yuri.

But Nolan smiled.

“Exactly those,” he said.

“But, how?” Patrick breathed.

It was a stupid question. He knew how. Any permanent marking on your soulmates skin showed up on yours, whether it was freckles, or a mole, or…a tattoo. Nolan was his soulmate.

“I think we’re soulmates,” Nolan said, laughing a little. “I’ve been trying to figure out for a whole who would get tattoos like this and why and now…and now you’re right here. I can hardly believe it.”

“Right,” Patrick said.

His mind kept jumping around. It all almost seemed to good to be true. He could feel his heart holding it’s breath, waiting for the catch, waiting for Nolan to realize that he had made a terrible mistake.

Nolan, though, picked up on Patrick’s non-response immediately.

“I’m sorry,” Nolan said, “you just met me and I’m just dumping all of this on you and—”

“Can you show me?” Patrick asked suddenly. “The tattoos, that is.”

Nolan blinked, and then understanding flooded his face as he realized what Patrick was really asking for. Physical proof. Something he could see and believe with his own eyes. It seemed like the only way to get a real confirmation.

“Oh,” Nolan said, “Oh, yeah, of course.”

He rolled up his sleeves, happy to oblige, and that’s when Patrick’s breath caught once again.

He hadn’t wanted to get the tattoos in just some random font that he would look back on and regret using later. He had wanted them to be meaningful, something he could look at on his worst days to gain a little strength.

So he’d had them done in his own messy handwriting. A note from his past self, on one of his best days, to his future self, for says of all sorts.

And there is was now. His handwriting—his tattoos—on Nolan’s Laoch’s biceps as clear and bold as if Patrick had just written those words there himself.

“Oh my God,” Patrick said, clasping his hands over his mouth, almost like a prayer. The words were half-gasp, half hysterical laugh.

It took him a minute to place the feeling the ballooned in his chest then. He felt as though the world was rushing past him, a million miles a second, while he and Nolan were left here, standing still. The party was forgotten. He almost wanted to cry, but in a good way.

This was happiness. This was pure, unsolicited happiness. It was everything that he had ever wanted—both meeting his hero and meeting his soulmate—rolled into one. It was a moment better than he could ever have dreamed of. Perfect. Absolutely, wonderfully, purely perfect.

“Patrick?” Nolan asked, but he didn’t like hesitant or afraid anymore. He was smiling. He looked happy too.

“You’re my soulmate?” Patrick croaked.

He could feel his heart dancing in his chest. Singing. It was singing like it had never sung before. Nolan stepped towards him, away from the ledge, until they were standing inches apart, foreheads pressed together. Gently, Nolan cradled his elbows. Patrick’s hands fluttered like birds away from his face to land on Nolan’s chest.

“I’ve wanted to meet you for so long—not just my meet you like ‘meet my soulmate,’ but meet  _ you _ ,” Patrick breathed.

He wasn’t looking at Nolan. He couldn’t. He was looking at their feet, his scuffed up, holey chucks and Nolan’s spotless Sperry’s. He could hear Nolan’s laugh rumble in his soulmate’s (his s _ oulmate’s!)  _ chest even as the sound washed over him. In that moment, Patrick thought it might just be the best sound he had ever heard.

“I’ve been wanting to meet you too,” Nolan said, “Although, I didn’t know who you were until this summer.”

Patrick just nodded. Of course not. His was a name that was only tossed around by the true running fanatics. A dark horse. It hadn’t been until the trials that people had really started looking his way and started pairing his name with the words “medal contender.”

“So,” Nolan said, stepping back now. He slid his hands down the lengths of Patrick’s forearms until he was just loosely holding Patrick’s hands. He rocked back a little on his heels. “I don’t really know how these things are supposed to go. What…what are you like? I admit, I tried stalking you on social media but…if you have accounts, I couldn’t find them.”

Patrick huffed up a laugh. He wasn’t certain how to explain to Nolan why he was so locked down on social media, why the only people he had ever shared his account information with was close friends and family. It was too complicated. Too messy.

“What do you want to know?” Patrick asked.

Nolan thought for a moment.

“Where are you from?”

“Chicago,” Patrick said automatically.

Saying his city’s name stirred up memories in him—memories of the house on the South side, of running along the lakeshore, of spending afternoons avoiding going home laying in Grant part, or wandering through the Lincoln Park conservatory, or just losing himself in the city. He cringed, though, to remember that that wasn’t quite true anymore.

“But I live in Michigan now,” he added quickly. “I’ve been living with my Grandpa in Ann Arbor since I was fifteen and I go to school in Pontiac. Good old Mesquaki U.”

“What year are you?” Nolan asked.

“Senior,” Patrick replied automatically. It was such a familiar routine by now, “but I’m doing five years, so I still have one more after this. I’m studying kinesiology and music ed.”

“That’s…different,” Nolan said carefully.

Patrick resisted the urge to squirm. Now that he had met Nolan, now that he knew that Nolan was his soulmate, he wanted to go somewhere, do something, with the other man. Standing here…having the same dumb conversation he’d had a million times before, it was already starting to bore him. But Patrick just shrugged.

“It’s what I like,” he said.

Nolan nodded. His eyes drifted and Patrick could see him losing interest in this conversation. His heart thundered as he tried to come up with ways to get Nolan to stay.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” Nolan asked suddenly. “Somewhere else.”

Patrick’s heart skipped a beat as his mind untwirled a million possibilities. He briefly considered then, telling Nolan that he had a boyfriend, that he had had a boyfriend since he was 18, but at the same time…he had no idea how to tell his soulmate that without alienating the other man. He wanted to have the opportunity to get to know Nolan, not make things awkward between them before they’d even had the chance to know each other for more than an hour.

“Where?” Patrick breathed.

Nolan paused, and Patrick laughed, because it was clear that his soulmate hadn’t thought that far ahead.

But that was okay. Because Patrick did that too sometimes.

“Come on,” Patrick said, tugging on Nolan’s hands, “let’s just go for a walk.”

Nolan smiled, relieved that Patrick was taking the lead, and it was a bright and beautiful thing, brighter and more beautiful than all of the city lights, than all of the stars.

OOO

They spent the rest of the night wandering around Rio, sketchiness of such an act be damned. Patrick had grown up in the South Side. Rio didn’t scare him, no matter what people told him. They talked about everything. Nolan’s life, Patrick already knew from endless interviews and articles, but it was an entirely different matter to hear his idol talk about these things in person. It was more intimate, somehow, and Nolan shared details here and there that Patrick had never known.

And Patrick shared too. All of it, more even, than he had told Yuri on the first day they had met. He told Nolan about his mom, and his dad, and the reason why he’d been taken in by his grandpa. He told Nolan about the solace he’d found in running, and the heroes he’d found in people like Nolan, and Pre.

He told Nolan about his bad days just as often as he told Nolan about his good days.

He told Nolan, words tripping over themselves, about his worst day of all, and afterwards, Nolan tugged his hand and pulled him close and held onto Patrick for a long moment. Patrick held Nolan back, closed his eyes and listened to his soulmate’s heartbeat.

On his worst days, on his lower than the sewer days, this was what had kept him going, the idea that one day, he would meet this person who he had been set aside for, and who he could talk to without ever fearing that they may think he and his mess was too much. And now he had it, but it didn’t leave him feeling terrified from losing that dream, but inspired. There was so much to explore here. So much more to live for than he ever could have imagined.

He didn’t mean for it to happen. But sometimes, that was just the way with these things. After Nolan had exhausted his stories and Patrick had exhausted his, the stood together, leaning against the fence overlooking lagoon that bordered the Olympic park. Just…talking. And at one point, Patrick had said something that Nolan must have found funny, and he looked over, laughing a little too.

When their laughter had died, Nolan had leaned over and kissed him, and it was kiss that felt like waking up. Patrick had blinked when Nolan had pulled away, hardly believing what had just happened.

He knew. He knew then that he should have said something about Yuri, but…

But Nolan Laoch had just kissed him, and Nolan was his soulmate, and Patrick was so overflowing with Joy that he could barely put two words together in his head at that point.

So he hadn’t objected as Nolan leaned in and kissed him again (and maybe he had leaned into it too, just to touch that beauty once again).

He hadn’t objected when Nolan had tugged on his hands and started pulling him back towards the main drag, hadn’t objected as Nolan kept kissing him, and at some point, had even started kissing Nolan back.

He hadn’t objected when they got back to the hotel as they kept making out in the elevator, or down the hall, or as they had stumbled into Nolan’s bedroom.

Really, Patrick realized now as he looked down at Nolan sleeping besides him, bare shoulder peeking out from under the sheets, he hadn’t been thinking at all last night, and he probably  _ should  _ have objected at some point because decent people did not cheat on their boyfriends.

Which is what he had done. He had cheated on Yuri, and as much as his heart, purring like a cat now, tried to tell him otherwise, Patrick knew that the fact that he had cheated on Yuri with his soulmate made no difference.

In fact, Patrick realized, stomach rolling, somehow, that just made the whole situation worse.

He was an idiot. He was—

No. He closed his eyes, shutting the trashcan lid on those thoughts. He couldn’t go down this path right now. Later, maybe. But not right now.

The mattress shifted as he slid out of bed and started gathering up his clothes. He was mostly dressed when Nolan stirred.

“Where are you going?” Nolan asked, starting to pull himself up. He rubbed at his eyes, tattoos flashing, and Patrick’s heart at last flinched. “What time is it?”

Patrick struggled to remember how to speak. His heart was torn, torn over gushing over how gorgeous Nolan looked, hair still mused with sleep, voice husky with it too, and torn with guilt over what he had done.

“It's still Early,” Patrick finally rasped.

His mouth had never been this dry. His tongue was a deadweight.

Nolan stretched, the tattoos flashed again. Patrick closed his eyes and blocked them out. He wanted to erase them for Nolan’s skin. Or his own. Either way, they filled him with shame now, not strength. He wished last night had never happened.

“Where are you going?” Nolan asked again.

Patrick opened his mouth and tried to find something resembling an explanation.

“Come back to bed,” Nolan coaxed, holding out his arms.

The sight of the tattoos made Patrick’s stomach roll. He turned away.

“Running,” Patrick choked out. “I missed my alarm—my phone died. I need to go running.”

“Can’t it wait?” Nolan begged.

“Probably shouldn’t,” Patrick said.

He didn’t turn around. He just finished pulling on his shoes, and then strode quickly for the door.

“Wait,” Nolan said as Patrick’s fingers wrapped around the handle.

Despite himself, Patrick looked back at his soulmate, sitting on the bed now, sheets pooled in his lap.

“You’re phone number. Something. So I can call you, later.”

Patrick stared at his soulmate for a moment, heart thundering in his chest. His mind whispered not to do it.

But he forgot all common sense when he was looking at Nolan. His heart directing him, Patrick rambled off the number as Nolan lunged for his phone and plugged it in. He didn’t wait around much longer after that, just slipped through the door and left. The fact that the door didn’t hit him on the way out felt like a cosmic betray. It should have. He would have deserved it.

OOO

Nolan texted him a few times over the next few days. Patrick responded, but mostly dodged him. He didn’t go to parties with Eleanor anymore. He just focused on his upcoming races and how he was possibly going to break this to Yuri.

Because he needed to. He needed to tell Yuri what had happened. The problem was, he didn’t know how. Just like telling your soulmate you had a boyfriend the first time you met, you didn’t tell your boyfriend you had cheated on him over the phone. There were rules. Rules of being a generally decent human being.

Granted, Patrick had thrown that all out the window the moment he had slept with Nolan, but still. He was trying. He was trying to do the right thing.

(His therapist, a heavier man named Brian, had frequently told Patrick that he had a problem with only ever trying to present his best self to others instead of being his “true self”).

(Patrick had been adamantly denying that that was the case for the past seven years. He was starting to think, however, that Brian might have been onto something).

(He was not certain how he felt about this).

When he stepped onto the track for his final race, his mind wasn’t in the right place. He had run enough races over the years to know when he was mentally ready and when he wasn’t, and every fiber of his being screamed that this wasn’t going to go well. He felt fine physically, but emotionally…

He had cheated on his boyfriend. The thought had chased him everywhere he went over the past few days. He had cheated on Yuri, wonderful, sweet, gentle Yuri, who deserved so much better than what Patrick had done. And now, he was avoiding Nolan, his hero, and an all around nice guy, who also deserved so much better than what Patrick had to offer, because if it. He didn’t want to race today. He wanted to lay on the beach near the cabin on Lake Michigan and listen to the waves come roaring in and out. For the first time since qualifying for the Olympics, Patrick wished he hadn’t made it.

But he didn’t have that option. He had to race today. He had to race today against some of the best distance runners in the world. And he had to hope that he wasn’t about to fail as miserably as he thought he was about it.

He didn’t talk to anyone as he got on the line. He barely registered the gun going off. He just ran when everyone else did.

As a little kid, growing up on the South Side of Chicago, he had run everywhere. He’d gotten more trouble than it was worth for it, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. It was the only way he knew to answer the rugged call that the city sang to him every night as he fell asleep.

The night his dad had left, he had ran. Six years old and he had hit the streets in the middle of the night after his parents’ screaming had woken him up. He had run as far as he could, then rested, walking a little, then started running again. A cop had picked him up on the North Side, in Wrigleyville, hours later.

He’d never stopped running after that.

When a gym teacher in middle school pulled him aside one day after class and told him to join the cross-country team, Patrick had listened. It had started as a way to get out of the house, but the longer he ran, the more he fell in love. He had been good. He had been so good. No one could touch him when he was on the course. He blew them all to dust.

Around him, Patrick could feel the press of bodies, close but not so close that they screwed up each other’s strides. To be honest, he’d always hated running track, felt too much like if he was in a herd of wild animals. When you got stuck in the pack like this, going round lap after lap, a piece of your humanity got chipped away. You stopped being you and started being one of many.

He closed his eyes, shut off that thought, tried to focus on the sound of his breathing, the sound of his feet striking the track, but got tied up in memory instead.

High school had been hell. Figuring out he was gay while trying to survive a conservative Catholic high school filled to the brim with over-privileged white kids was hard enough, but Mom had been hell then too. And some of it, Patrick knew, couldn’t really be chalked up to anything but the way his brain worked. All he really knew, though, was that somewhere in there, he stopped living and started barely existing. Every day was a marathon that he had not trained to run. Going to practice, running even a little bit, was exhausting. Mom had never cared. Mom had just shouted at him to get up, get out of bed, to go do something with his lazy ass.

He flunked State. Really, it had been a miracle that he had made it there at all, with how poor his cross country season came to be at the end, but state was an absolute crap show. His coach said he went out too slow, too tentative. Patrick knew the truth though. He just hadn’t wanted to be there. And his coach’s words had fallen on deaf ears.

Still, though. As bad as life had been during the season, as much as he had hated trying to coax himself into going on a run, something he had once loved, life after season was worse. There was nothing to do. And winter days stretched long and cold in the city. There was no way to get out of the house. No way to get out of his mind.

It was a sunny day when he had decided to do it. December 18 th . A week before Christmas. He had failed his finals. He had failed his season, and now, all that stretched ahead of him was more of the same. More of some dull existence living in a house he couldn’t stand, with a mother he couldn’t stand, in a mind he could never escape from, with more failures piling on top of him than he could ever crawl out from under.

Once he had made the decision, things got…better. Easier. He had been able to breathe again, just a little bit more than before, but he’d been able to do it.

He had told Mom he wasn’t feeling well before Christmas mass. She’d scoffed, and tried to hassle him into coming along, but Patrick had been resolved. Eventually she had left. And the house had been his.

He hadn’t counted on Katty, the neighbor coming to check on him. He hadn’t expected Mom to care that much about how he was feeling. She rolled her eyes at him often enough that it was hard to believe it. He remembered Katty’s scream. He’d been halfway gone, but he remembered it. The rest was a blur.

His legs were aching. He’d lost track of how many laps he’d run. He was still stuck in the pack, more complacent than he normally raced. Normally he pushed the pace at the way until the end. Before he’d gotten here, he’d been branded as a hot-headed newbie but now people called him something of a genius. No one raced like he did anymore. No one but him raced like if Steve Prefontaine was still in the game.

They took a turn and Patrick leaned into it. He needed to focus on racing. He knew that. It was the 5000. It was his last race of the games (one of  _ the  _ last races of the games, actually). It was  _ his  _ race. He had been born to run distance. What the hell was he doing?

They came around the homestretch. The crowd did not roar. The crowd never roared in distance races until the final stretch, especially not when runners went at the granny pace that Patrick and the rest of the pack were currently caught in.

He didn’t want to think about that Christmas anymore. He wanted to think about everything that had come after it. Moving in with Grandpa. Meeting Yuri. Falling in love with Yuri. Getting through the trials and coming here.

He had screwed so much in his life up. Sleeping with Nolan was only the most recent in a long list of singularly poor decision.

He did not want to screw this race up.

They passed by the clock, going in for the next turn, and Patrick checked the time, checked the laps.

There was still time. There was still the opportunity to turn this around. Sometimes, twenty seconds was all it took to change a race, change a life. Heart set, Patrick crept around the runner ahead of him. And then the runner after that, and the runner after that.

When he had the space, he broke free from the pack, and that’s when he really started pushing the pace.

There were a lot of Pre quotes that Patrick had fallen in love with when he had first started running. Quotes about suicide paces and gut races. What it took to win, to be great. His flat favorite had always been the one he had a snippet of tattooed on his arm though.

“I run best when I run free.”

He couldn’t see the tattoo now, but he knew it was there. It lent him strength even as his body groaned that it did not want to do this.

Screw what his body thought he could do. He was going to win this fucking race if it killed him.

He didn’t know how he was going to tell Yuri what he had done. He didn’t know what he was going to do about Nolan. But right now, none of that could matter. He couldn’t race with those burdens weighing down on his back. For now, he would race free, and if his problems caught up with him at the finish line, then that’s where they caught up with him, but for now, he was leaving them, and the rest of his competitors behind.

The crowd roared when he came around the turn on the homestretch this time. They could tell that this had finally turned into a real race, after all. Above him, the stadium lights burned like Yuri’s stars. And still Patrick kept pushing the pace.

A few people who didn’t know any better tried to stick with him, but lap after lap, Patrick shed them too. Only the vets hung back, most likely laughing at him, calling him crazy for going so hard so early.

Joke was on them. He could feel the song in his stride. He could keep this pace for an eternity.

By the time they came upon the home stretch for the last time, the crowd was on their feet. Patrick had been pushing his already break-neck pace into a sprint for the last 300 meters. Some of the vets were breathing hot on his feet. His legs ached. He felt like he was running into a wall.

Someone passed him in the last fifty meters. Came up besides him slowly and then broke free. They didn’t even glance over at him, as they did it. Just took the lead like if this had always been the plan. Patrick barely registered the color of their shirt. He just grit his teeth and pushed himself harder, until his feet hit the finish line and he wiped out.

There were reporters everywhere. Health staff. A lot of people surrounding him all at once.

He thought he heard someone ask if he was okay and he nodded.

“I just didn’t want to lose again,” he huffed.

Somebody laughed, and then somebody helped him to his feet and handed him a water bottle while a camera and a microphone were shoved in his face so he could answer questions.

He did. He made nice when the guy who had beat him. He posed for photos. He did everything he was supposed to do.

When the medal ceremony finally rolled around, Patrick stepped onto the podium proudly. He had won silver, but that was just this time. There were other seasons to prepare for. Another Olympics to bring his A-game to in four years. This wasn’t the end. This wasn’t his end. Yuri, Nolan, all of it. He would sort it out, somehow. He wasn’t sure how, but he’d do it, if only because he had too, if only because he had decided a long time ago to never let his life get as low as the Christmas evening ever again.

OOO

The airport was crowded when Patrick landed. Getting through customs was a bitch and a half. He was exhausted by the time he reached the gate. Today, he’d have to talk to Yuri. Today, he’d have to tell his boyfriend what he had done.

Today, he was going to break Yuri’s heart.

The knowledge left him emotionally drained. He didn’t want to do this, but it needed doing. Decent people righted their wrongs, after all.

He had decided on the flight here that he would do whatever Yuri wanted. If Yuri wanted to break up, then they’d break up. If Yuri wanted to stay together, try and make things work out, then Patrick would do that too. He was an idiot, and an asshole, and absolutely deserving of all the worst things in the world, and the only way Patrick knew how to make up for that was letting Yuri choose what they were going to do.

Because, after all, they were still a couple. They were still a team. They were still two people who were going to make these decisions together.

Nolan didn’t know about any of it. Patrick had continued to dodge him at the closing ceremonies. Nolan and Eleanor. He’d talk to Nolan after he had talked to Yuri, after he had figured out what Yuri wanted to do.

The first thing Patrick saw were the balloons. Green and silver. Green because it was his favorite color, silver for his medal, both of them together for his Hogwarts house. Yuri was standing beneath them, looking like a wreck. Seeing his boyfriend made Patrick’s heart ache.

God, he had screwed up so badly that he really wasn’t certain there was any way to move forward from this point. Yuri deserved so much better than him. Yuri deserved the universe, and every last star, and he had gotten stuck with Patrick’s mess instead. It was cosmically unfair.

“Yuri,” Patrick called as he got closer.

His boyfriend was examining the balloons with a frown. Patrick could practically see the consideration in Yuri’s mind to just pop them, in all their conspicuous glory, and the thought almost bought a smile to his face. Almost.

But he was going to break Yuri’s heart today, and it was unclear if he’d be able to repair it. Today was not a day for smiling.

“Hey,” Yuri said.

He looked at terrible as Patrick did, which was not at comforting thought. If Yuri was already this low, then Patrick hated to know that he was about to bring his boyfriend even lower.

(At the same time, however, Patrick had a sneaking suspicion that he was probably the reason why Yuri looked as worn out as he did).

(But he couldn’t think about that right now).

“Nice balloons,” Patrick said.

“They’re for you,” Yuri said, holding them out a little in the space between them.

It was such a thoughtful, wonderfully Yuri thing to do. Balloons. Balloons to announce to everyone around them that Patrick had done something fantastic. Balloons for their reunion after their first summer apart. And despite himself, Patrick smiled. He wished, more than anything, that he could take back everything that he had done so that this reunion could be the happy thing it should have been. He wished he had done as right by Yuri as Yuri had always done by him.

“Thanks,” Patrick said.

He closed the distance between them, if only because that distance was becoming increasingly painful to bear, and then hesitated.

He was not sure he could do this after all. He was not sure he had the strength to tell the wonderful, beautiful man, who loved him even when he didn’t deserve it, the horrible thing he had done.

“I told you you didn’t have to come,” Patrick said.

That had been back before his last race, back when he’d still been dodging Yuri as much as he could. Yuri’s absence certainly would have brought Patrick’s cowardly heart time.

“I wanted to,” Yuri said softly, and Patrick longed to kiss him at those words.

Of course Yuri had wanted to come. Of course Yuri would still want to see him. Yuri didn’t know yet what Patrick had done, and because of that, Patrick refrained himself from kissing Yuri then. Until he told Yuri what had happened, he wouldn’t try and pretend that things were the same between them. Everything had changed, and it was unfair to Yuri to pretend otherwise.

“My stuff should be at baggage claim by now,” Patrick said instead. He shifted his eyes away. It was so hard to look Yuri in the eye today. Too hard.

“Okay,” Yuri said.

And that was that. Patrick could tell from the shift of Yuri’s shoulder’s that his boyfriend knew that something was wrong. But here, in this impersonal airport, in public, was not the time to confirm that suspicion. So they just walked over to baggage claim together in silence.

“How was it?” Yuri asked as they stood by the carousel, Patrick’s eyes skipping over stranger’s luggage, his mind whispering a top ten list of his greatest failures.

Each and every one of them was sleeping with Nolan Laoch. It was exhausting Patrick just to listen to that voice, but it wasn’t shutting up with the trashcan trick. It just laughed at him and kept going.

Silence stretched between them. It finally occurred to Patrick that Yuri had asked him a question.

“What?” he asked.

“It,” Yuri said, gesturing vaguely. The balloons, still clutched in his hand, bumped together with the motion and Yuri glanced up at them with an achingly adorable annoyance before looking back at Patrick. “They Olympics. Rio. How was it?”

“Oh,” Patrick said, glancing away. He couldn’t talk to Yuri about this now. And if he tried to talk about one part of it, he would be pretending that things were fine. And they weren’t fine, so he’d be lying. And he didn’t want to be lying to Yuri any more than he had too.

“Good,” he said, settling for one word that pretty much summed it all up without giving too much away.

Yuri stared at him for a beat and Patrick knew he had fucked up again.

“Good,” Yuri finally said. His voice sounded stiff. Forced. Patrick tried not to wince.

He was saved, however, when Yuri spotted his luggage, and pointed it out to Patrick in a soft voice. Patrick breathed a quick thanks and grabbed it. Then, together, through some unspoken understanding, they turned and started walking back towards the exit.

“Where’d you park?” Patrick made himself ask as they reached the doors, if only to combat the stifling silence with awkward conversation.

“B lot,” Yuri said dully.

The walked through the doors. The summer air rushed to greet them. Cooler here than it had been in Rio, but still warm. Still as suffocating as a heavy blanket. He didn’t notice that Yuri had stopped until he had already walked a few paces. Was this how their lives were going to be, now? Stiff, awkward, always out of step out of pace with one another?

“Yuri,” Patrick said.

His boyfriend didn’t move. If anything, there was a war being waged within him. Patrick could see it, as he could always see it, in the little ticks and tells of Yuri’s that he had learned to notice over the years.

“Yuri,” Patrick said again.

When Yuri still didn’t move, let alone open his eyes, Patrick strolled back towards him until they were practically standing toe-to-toe.

“Yuri,” Patrick said a third time.

Yuri’s eyes fluttered open like if he were waking up for the first time. He smiled a little when he saw Patrick standing so close to him, and then Yuri leaned forward and kissed him.

For a minute, Patrick didn’t know what to do. It felt wrong to be kissed by Yuri when he most certainly did not deserve to be kissed. But at the same time, right now, he just wanted to fall apart, and kissing Yuri, well, kissing Yuri had always made the world seem a little less dark.

So he kissed Yuri back.

“Welcome home,” Yuri said when he finally pulled away.

Patrick smiled.

“Thank you for bringing me balloons,” he said.

“I should have made a sign,” Yuri fussed.

“The balloons are still nice,” Patrick said, trying to reassure him.

A smile flickered across Yuri’s face again. God, Patrick would never forgive himself if he never got to see that smile again.

“How are you?” Yuri asked.

That was such a loaded question. But Patrick answered it as honestly as he could.

“Tired,” he said.

Yuri smiled again, finally finding reassurance, although Patrick wanted to scream at him that he shouldn’t, that the worst was still coming.

“Let’s get you home then,” Yuri said.

Patrick nodded numbly.

Together, they walked back to Patrick’s truck. The balloons bounced around the cab. Patrick carved out a little space for himself on the passenger side and rested his head against the window.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t break Yuri down like this, not when he knew how much it would break Yuri’s heart.

He almost flinched when he felt Yuri reached over and give his hand a comforting squeeze. He wasn’t the one who deserved comforting. If anything, he deserved the worst kind of punishment that Yuri could dream up.

It was a long drive back to Pontiac. The radio hummed and the balloons filled the space between them. Patrick spent most of the ride trying to figure out what to say and coming up short. There was no good, gentle way to tell your boyfriend you had cheated on him, after all, and there was never going to be, no matter how hard Patrick tried to think of the right words to say.

He barely registered it when the truck stopped for good. He only noticed as the engine, always a clanky beast, finally went quiet. In the silence, he heard Yuri unclip his seatbelt.

It was now or never, because Patrick knew he’d be sidetracked the moment he stepped inside his apartment.

“Yuri, we need to talk,” Patrick said, pushing the words up his throat.

He felt Yuri go still at the other side of the cab.

“About what?” Yuri asked.

Patrick unpeeled himself from the window. He looked down at his hands, as if he would find the answers to his problems etched into his palms.

“I met my soulmate,” he said.

“What?” Yuri asked.

Yuri sounded then like Patrick had, the night that Nolan had told him about the tattoos. Except, while Patrick had stumbled into a dream, he knew that Yuri was suddenly finding himself in a nightmare. He forced himself to lift up his head, to summon the strength that had sustained him through the last lap of that silver-medal race, and look Yuri in the eye.

“I met my soulmate,” he said clearly.

Yuri reeled back, as if Patrick’s words were a physical blow.

“When?” Yuri asked.

Patrick pressed his lips together, and then made himself answer.

“Rio,” he said.

“Who was it?” Yuri asked, almost like if he was afraid to know, or have his fears confirmed.

“Nolan Laoch.”

Yuri glanced away, towards the steering wheel, clearly stunned.

“Yuri?” Patrick asked.

Now was when he needed to finish explaining himself, and then pose that awful, inevitable question to Yuri: what do you want to do?

But from the way Yuri was currently holding his shoulder’s, Patrick thought he could guess the answer.

“Yuri say something,” Patrick pleaded.

Yuri just stayed silent.

“Yuri, please.”

He pushed aside the balloons choking the space between them, closed the gap between himself and his boyfriend.

“Yuri,” Patrick breathed.

It was only then that he realized that Yuri was crying, silently, of course. Everything Yuri did was soft and unobtrusive. Yuri never would have done what Patrick had done. Yuri was too good, too considerate. Patrick reached out a hand to brush away Yuri’s tears on instinct more than anything else, but Yuri jerked away before Patrick had the chance.

“Did you—” Yuri stuttered.

Patrick sighed. Leave it to Yuri to guess exactly what was weighing on him. He could see, with that sound though, the exact moment that Yuri’s heart broke, it was there, in the way Yuri’s throat bobbed, in the way Yuri’s eyes squeezed more tightly shut.

“I should go,” Yuri said. His voice was cold. Numb.

Yuri shifted away, towards the door. Patrick couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t let Yuri leave before they had finished this conversation, but he couldn’t let the man he loved walk out of his life like this.

“Yuri,” he started.

“Let go, Patrick,” Yuri said, voice cutting like a blade.

Patrick paused for a moment, torn between doing as Yuri had asked and making Yuri stay.

But he had promised himself that whatever Yuri wanted, he would do. And right now, Yuri was asking him to let go. So Patrick did.

He grabbed the balloons before they could go spilling out into the night through the door Yuri had left open. He actually almost considered clambering out of the truck after Yuri, balloons in hand, begging his boyfriend to stay.

But Yuri didn’t want to stay, so Patrick wasn’t going to make him.

He climbed out of the truck slowly, balloons bumping around him. The fact that they didn’t pop was a miracle, but one that Patrick clung to all the same. He needed a miracle right now.

A balloon slipped from his fingers when he jumped down to the pavement. Silver. He watched it disappear into the night with tired indifference. He glanced over at the balloons he still held in his hand. Nine of them left now, but there had once been ten total. He grabbed onto two of the strings with his free hand, held onto them tightly, and then let the rest go floating after that lone silver balloon. He wondered what people would think.

When he was younger, after Grandma had died, every time he had been with Grandpa, the old man had always let a balloon go for his wife.

“They’re carrying all my love and thoughts and wishes up to her,” Grandpa had told him once.

Patrick, in awe of the romantic gesture back then, had quickly started following suit.

He let seven balloons go deliberately for her now, and sent his love, thoughts, and wishes racing to catch up with the eighth.

_ Grandma, I loved him so much,  _ one balloon wept.

_ Grandma, I’ve screwed it all up,  _ went with another.

_ Grandma, I don’t know what to do from here; Grandma help me; Grandma, why do I have to be such a fuck up; Grandma, I wish you were here to help me; Grandma, he deserved better than me; Grandma, sometimes I wish that I  _ wasn’t  _ me. _

He watched the balloons drift away until they were out of sight, and then he turned, pulled his keys out of the ignition, and slammed the truck door closed. He clung tightly to the two balloons he still held in his hand. One for him, one for Yuri.

It didn’t seem like enough, but somehow it would have to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this ended up being so long. Initially, it was only going to be the first part, and then I added the second part, and while I was at it I figured I may as well share Patrick POV for last chapter and before I knew it...it was hella long. 
> 
>  
> 
> ~~it was actually going to creep into next chapter too, but I restrained myself~~


	25. Chapter 25

“Yuri came home last night.”

Victor looked up from where he and Theia were sitting in their regular corner sofa in Graeme’s. He was reading a poet Theia had recommended before the beach trip—Mary Oliver (although he had left the collection she had bought him at the cabin by accident)— she was flipping through a biography of some sort.

“What?” Theia asked.

“That was my reaction,” Phichit said.

He settled onto the little leather footrest (table?) in front of them and leaned forward earnestly.

“It was late, and I don’t think he knew I was up because I was just in my room scrolling through Insta and I heard the door unlock which is always like, ‘intruder alert’ and then I heard him come in and...yeah.”

“Was he there when you woke up this morning?” Theia asked.

Phichit shrugged.

“I didn’t check because I wasn’t sure of whether or not he wanted me to know he came back. I don’t think so, but it’s hard to say.”

Theia’s lips pressed into a tight, thin line. Victor looked back and forth between them.

“Someone fill me in,” he said.

“You heard all of it,” Phichit said.

He looked grave, like if they were discussing the impending funeral for a terminally ill friend.

“What’s significant about Yuri coming home?” Victor asked. “Does he not do that every night?”

“He was supposed to pick up Patrick last night,” Theia said.

Oh. _Oh._

“Did he not?” Victor asked.

“No, he went to the airport,” Phichit said. His eyes were wide, willing Victor to understand the whole story.

“So do you think…?” Victor started.

“Yes,” Phichit said firmly.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Theia said hesitantly. “We don’t know for certain.”

“But the facts, Theia!” Phichit said.

“Could point to a lot of different things,” she said solemnly.

Phichit paused to chew on his lip.

“I suppose so,” he said quietly. “But even so. I bet that Patrick met his soulmate, and I bet that he picked whoever it is over Yuri.”

Victor’s heart skipped a beat. He covered it by taking a calm sip of his coffee, willing his hand to remain steady as he did. It was one thing to discuss the possibility of Yuri and Patrick breaking up in vague terms. It was another to start aiming blindly at the why in specific terms.

“What?” Phichit asked. “You know they fought about this spring.”

Something on Victor’s face must have given away his surprise because Phichit was quick to clarify himself.

“They didn't talk about it with any of us, really, and they haven't brought it up since, and it was mainly while you were in Europe, but yeah. Before then, I didn’t even know they could fight, but it was awful. It lasted _days_.”

“They actually fought about it?” Victor asked.

Phichit shrugged. “It’s a fight all non-soulmate couples have eventually, I think. The question is how the deal with the aftermath. It was mainly just weird because even though Yuri and Patrick do frustrate each other on occasion, they’ve always deal with their issues pretty reasonably. Talked it out. All that. I don’t know what happened this time around. Yuri was high key working himself to death again and Patrick got him to take a break and curl up on the couch while Patrick and I watched friends. Yuri was almost asleep, but then Patrick just made this comment about wanting to meet his soulmate because someone in the episode just had and it snapped Yuri awake and he got really upset, because he’s _Yuri_ , and we all know how Yuri feels about soulmates.”

_I think if he had to choose, Patrick would pick his soulmate over me._

“Oh,” Victor said, feigning casualness.

“And, I don’t know, I feel bad discussing this,” Theia said.

“No,” Phichit said. “Whatever you have to say, get it out. All the gossip, out on the table, now.”

“Sometimes I think there’s a little bit of a disconnect between them. Just a little. I don’t know. They don’t always get each other perfectly. But that’s fine. Sometimes Maria and I are like that too.”

“I feel what you’re saying though,” Phichit said.

“That’s not basis for them to, you know, break up though,” Theia said. “Do you really think Patrick chose some stranger over Yuri just because they’re soulmates?”

 _Yuri thinks so, yes,_ Victor thought.

“Yes,” Phichit said firmly at the same time.

“Just because he’s more idealistic—”

“Look alive,” Victor said taking another sip of his coffee.

Theia and Phichit looked at him in confusion, and he tilted his head subtly towards the gelato case, where no other than the central figure of their conversation had joined the line.

“Holy fuck, it’s Patrick,” Phichit breathed, glancing over in a none too subtle way. “We should call him over,” Phichit said, turning back to them.

“No we should not,” Theia snapped. “We are not going to call our friend over and ask him probing questions about his relationship just to satisfy your thirst for gossip.”

Phichit stared at her incredulously.

“Who said anything about gossip?” He asked. “I was going to ask him about the Olympics.”

The look Theia gave Phichit very clearly conveyed that she knew exactly what he was up to and was not at all amused, but it was too late for her to really do anything; Phichit had already turned back around and called Patrick’s name. She groaned softly and buried her face in her hands before plastering a smile on her face.

It was all Victor could do to bite back his at his amusement towards the whole scenario. There was a part of his mind that was bursting with excitement of the potential of a now very single Yuri, but another, greater part was fretting over what Yuri’s emotional state would be if he had indeed broken up with his boyfriend last night as a final, horrifying confirmation of what had to be his worst fear.

Patrick waved over at them when he heard Phichit call his name, but waited until he had placed his order to wander over. He looked...terrible. Truly terrible. Haggard in a way that Victor had never seen him to be before. True, there had been times when it just looked like Patrick had been worn thin by the world, but this looked worse than that. Previously, he had just looked like a book that had been too often read and passed between ungentle hands. Now, he looked like a book that someone had forgotten in a gutter, and then had proceeded to be run over, multiple times, by uncaring people.

“Hey,” Patrick said.

He was wearing glasses too. Since when did Patrick wear glasses?

“You look terrible,” Theia said.

Patrick laughed, but it was humorless.

“Yeah, well…”

“Post-Olympic slump really that bad?” Phichit asked.

Patrick gave their young friend a measured look and Victor knew that Patrick knew that Phichit was thinking more than he was letting on.

“Guess you could say that, yeah,” Patrick said. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Why’s that?” Phichit asked.

His face, Victor couldn’t help but note, was completely innocent. For a second, Victor could almost believe that Phichit was genuinely curious about how Patrick was taking an abrupt return to home after the weeks long thrill of an Olympic competition. Almost.

Patrick looked up at Victor and Theia, not doubt trying to assess how much they suspected about his relationship status with Yuri as well. Theia looked away. Victor held Patrick’s gaze.

“It’s hard,” he said, “coming home afterwards. Things don’t feel as real, right?”

And with that, something in Patrick seemed to soften. He settled onto the table/footrest next to Phichit.

“Fam,” he said heavily. “I done did fuck up.”

“What happened?” Theia asked.

Her brow furrowed. She switched into the instantly recognizable mom-mode. Victor set aside his coffee and carefully marked his page.

“You mean the world’s biggest gossip hasn’t let you in on anything yet?” Patrick asked, tilting his head towards Phichit.

Theia’s eyes flicked towards their young friend briefly.

“I don’t want to jump to conclusions,” she said. “Not when we don’t know the whole story.”

“What time did he get home last night?” Patrick asked, turning to Phichit.

There was sorrow, and genuine curiosity, in his face. Phichit shrugged.

“Late?” He said. “I don’t know. Maybe around one thirty? Two?”

Patrick sighed.

“So you didn’t talk to him then?” he asked. “Didn’t see him?”

Phichit shook his head. Patrick scratched the back of his neck, biding for time, and looked back at Theia.

“I think Yuri and I broke up last night,” he said.

“You think?” Theia asked.

“It’s not like either of us specifically said anything to that effect,” Patrick snapped. “He just sort of...left. And I didn’t go after him.”

Theia’s eyebrows shot up.

“I think you better tell us the whole story, P,” she said.

Patrick hesitated and then looked over at Phichit.

“Would you mind leaving us alone for a bit, bud?” he asked.

“I don’t get to be part of this conversation?” Phichit objected.

“Please,” Patrick said, and it was like if the world was weighing down on him. “I just want to talk to Mom right now.”

“What about Victor?” Phichit asked. Everyone turned to look at him and Victor held up his hands. “I can leave too if you want me to,” he said.

“No,” Patrick said after a minute. “You’re an outside observer. You can stay.”

Victor didn’t bother to correct him. It would have been too hard. Phichit scowled, but after a minute of all of them staring him down, he got up and slunked away. Patrick sighed and looked back at Victor and Theia.

“I don’t know where to begin,” he said.

“The beginning is always a good place,” Theia said.

She didn’t sound angry, or annoyed. Just like a mother, wanting to know how her floor had gotten scuffed up this time.

“Nolan Laoch in my soulmate,” Patrick said.

“Oh, shit,” Theia replied.

Patrick chuckled, but it was humorless.

“Yeah, that was about my reaction too,” he said. “I was just...at a party one night, and Eleanor Jorgensen—she’s one of our female mid-distance runners—she just sort of grabs my arms and goes ‘You _need_ to come with me right now’ and she takes me over and it’s him and she wandered off after a bit. I don't know. I had kinda stopped really paying attention at that point. But then she wandered off and then he smiled at me and he just said, ‘you have my tattoos.”

“Fuck,” Theia said.

“Yeah,” Patrick replied. Again, he laughed, again, it seemed like he was laughing at some morbid joke, rather than something genuinely funny.

“Did you tell him about Yuri?” Theia asked.

Patrick’s face fell.

“No,” he breathed. “I kept telling myself too. Thinking that it was something that I should bring up, but I just didn’t know how. ‘Great to meet you; by the way, I’ve had a boyfriend for three years.’ It didn’t feel right, you know?”

“Patrick,” Theia sighed.

“I know, I know,” Patrick said. “I fucked up. You don’t need to tell me.”

“Please don’t tell me you slept with him,” Theia said. She groaned at the look on Patrick’s face. “Oh, God, P, you didn’t just kind of fucked up, you _really_ fucked up.”

“It all happened so fast,” Patrick said. “And it was _him,_ Nolan Laoch _.In_ the _flesh.”_

“I don’t care if it was fucking Jesus Christ come back for the End of Times. You don’t sleep with another dude if you have a boyfriend.”

“But he’s my _soulmate_ ,” Patrick said hesitantly, as if he was even trying to convince himself that this was a proper defence. “You don’t—”

“I do,” Theia objected, brushing him aside, “as I am currently in a relationship with mine, but that being said had I been with someone when I met Maria, I would not have cheated on her with Maria.”

“That’s not how it is,” Patrick said.

“You slept with someone else who was not Yuri, who is your _boyfriend_ , before the two of you broke up. I think that would fall under most people’s definitions of ‘cheating,’ Patrick,” Theia said.

“Victor,” Patrick said, turning to him hopefully, “if you met your soulmate, and—”

“You know Yuri’s met his soulmate, right?” Victor asked, cutting him off.

Sometime in the last few minutes, he had started shaking. He was clutching his hands together to keep them still, but that wasn’t doing much against the nausea rising in his throat. The part of his mind excited by the fact that Yuri might be single was gone, replace entirely by an overwhelming desire to dump his coffee on Patrick’s head.

“What?” Theia and Patrick chorused together.

“Yuri met his soulmate,” Victor said again. He was surprised at how steady his voice was. He glanced back and forth between Theia and Patrick, as if he was genuinely surprised that they were not aware of this, before his eyes settled heavily on Patrick’s stricken face and he continued.

“Seemed like a decent enough person, in my opinion,” Victor said, smiling a little to himself. “Really seemed to care about Yuri. But Yuri said no. He picked you. He said no matter what, even if he wasn’t sure that you’d always pick him, he’s always chose you. That’s how much he loves you Patrick, well, loved you. And you just threw it all away for someone you had never met. Good job. I can see why Yuri walked away.”

Theia and Patrick were staring at him in disbelief. Victor was surprised to find, however, that he did not care much about the bombshell he had just dropped on them, even with Theia knowing as much about his affections as she did. He really just wanted to leave before he did something he regretted, like punch Patrick in the face. Repeatedly. He stood up.

“How do you know about Yuri’s soulmate?” Patrick asked.

Victor glanced down at him.

“I was there,” he said simply. “Yuri asked me not to talk about it with any of you, though. I think I see why, now. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

He moved to step past Patrick and no one stopped him.

“Victor,” he heard Patrick say though before he could really walk away.

He paused and looked back, quirking an eyebrow in question enough.

“Are you serious?” Patrick asked. “Did Yuri really meet his soulmate and choose...me?”

Victor nodded sharply, just once. It would have been answer enough, except...well, except he couldn’t really help himself. Sometimes, he was just petty like that.

“Clearly, you didn’t deserve it,” Victor said. “And if you couldn’t be smart enough to do the same, to choose Yuri, who has only ever loved you with everything he has, well, then clearly you didn’t deserve him either.”

OOO

Victor let his feet taken him where they would. He didn’t know where to go except anywhere that wasn’t where Patrick was. His heart was breaking for Yuri; Yuri, who loved Patrick more than he loved the stars, Yuri, who loved Patrick so much that he stuck by Patrick’s side even when he didn’t think Patrick would always stick by his.

It wasn’t fair. Yuri deserved—he deserved to be happy, with the person who made him happiest, and that, as far as Victor could see, was Patrick. For Patrick to do something like this, to turn his back on everything that he and Yuri had, even if it had been with his soulmate, it was disgusting. Didn’t Patrick know what a valuable thing Yuri’s love was? Not given to him because it was somehow required, demanded by some incomprehensible, cosmic bond, but because Yuri had wanted to love Patrick above all else. Yuri had chosen that, Yuri had chose him, over and over and over. Yuri had been steadfast enough in his feelings to stick to the person he didn’t have to love, but wanted to.

A year ago, Victor realized, he would have sided with Patrick. He would have come down on the side of the beauty and overpowering nature of the soulmate bond. But that had been before everything, before he had seen that non-soulmate relationships could work even when soulmate relationships failed, before he had fallen in love with Yuri, before he had known what Yuri was to him.

He wanted nothing more right now, as the warm summer afternoon threaded its way through it hair, to pull Yuri back to the safe-haven of the cabin on the beach, before anything had happened. He wanted to shield Yuri from this heartbreak, protect his glass heart from the fumbling hands of a man who didn’t know how precious and delicate the heart he held was.

He wasn’t surprised when he found himself at the rink. That was where he always went when his feet didn’t know where else to go. For his entire life, whenever the world was just too much, this was where he had come, and he had poured that emotion into routine after routine that had won him gold but not the comfort that was only earned with time.

All of his practice clothes were at home, but he had worn jeans today, and he didn’t have to do anything fancy; just skate in circles and start pulling everything apart in his mind. It wasn’t a question of whether to slip inside; he just did, wandered back to the locker rooms and pulled on the spare pair of socks in his and his skates. He focused on the feel of the laces between his fingers, and the way it felt to tighten his skates all the way up, the way it felt to tug and pull on the laces to get his skates on just right.

He should talk to Yuri. Text him later, maybe? Or would that be intrusive? Would it seem overeager? How did one genuinely check on the emotional well being of a soulmate who had just ended a years-long relationship without seeming like they wanted something more? The question was still swirling around his mind when he pushed open the door to the rink. He was shook out of his thoughts by the familiar sound though of skates scraping against the ice.

Yuri was here, and he was skating.

Well then.

For a while, Victor didn’t say anything; he just leaned on the boards and watched as Yuri did what he had been wanting to do; sort his feelings into jumps and spins and step-sequences and choreography. It was in no way cohesive, but it was beautiful, in a sad sort of way. It broke Victor’s heart all over again to see it. He knew that there was no real way to save Yuri from the pain of the world, but he wished, in this instance, that he could have.

Eventually Yuri saw him, and gave him a small little wave. Victor waved back and after a moment’s hesitation, Yuri skated over.

A million questions ran through Victor head ranging from _how are you doing_ to _do you want help with everything._

“How long have you been here?” he asked instead though.

Yuri shrugged. “Few hours?” he said. “I don’t know. I woke up late this morning and just needed to do something.”

Victor nodded, but didn’t comment on how much he knew.

“Were you going to skate?” Yuri asked him.

It was his turn to shrug.

“Just in circles,” Victor said. “I wanted to think about some things.”

Yuri nodded.

“How long were you planning to?” he asked.

“Half hour?” Victor asked. “Maybe a little longer. Why?”

“Just asking,” Yuri asked.

He bent over and brushed some ice of the blade of his skate. Everything that had happened to Yuri the night before hung unspoken between them, and Victor half-wondered if he would bring it up.

“I think I settled on a program theme,” Yuri said without looking up at him, “if you’re willing to help me with it.”

“And what’s that?” Victor asked.

“Love,” Yuri said firmly, finally looking up and meeting his eyes.

It was unexpected, given everything that had happened to him in the last twenty four hours, but perfect too. Victor nodded.

“I’d love to,” he said, and then smiled a little at the joke.

Yuri smiled too and something in Victor’s heart eased. Things couldn’t have been that bad if Yuri was at least willing to smile.

“Do you want to grab lunch and talk about it?” Victor asked.

Yuri hesitated.

“Not yet. Like, yes, but not right now.”

“Sure,” Victor said shrugging. “Mind if I share the ice with you in the meantime?”

Yuri shook his head and headed back out onto the ice. After a second, Victor slipped through the gate and joined him. They didn’t talk, though Victor kept one eye on Yuri’s skating while he went round and round and round. It was so easy to lose himself in his thoughts when he didn’t have to focus on doing anything other than make a turn every time he reached one, lifting up his skates as he crossed them over, keeping his balance as he moved along the straights, felt the ridges he and Yuri had carved into the ice as they bumped along his blades.

After his mother had died, his father had become consumed with work, and every day after classes had ended, Victor had gone to the rink near his house and just gone in circle after circle after circle around the rink while they kept it open to the public. He had lost himself to the repetition of it. He didn’t need to focus on form to balance or how to do any tricks. All he had to do was keep going around and around and around until it was time to go back home, and even then a part of him stayed on the ice, focused on doing loops until it was time to go back and actually do it again.

He had meant what he had said to Patrick, earlier in Graeme’s. If Patrick really was going to prioritize his soulmate over Yuri, when Yuri always, always prioritized Patrick over Victor, even after everything, then Patrick didn’t deserve Yuri’s love. He didn’t know if he would classify soulmates as Theia did—as the person you _wanted_ to love because that prioritizing demonstrated clearly who Yuri wanted to love, and without question that person was Patrick. He was thankful every day, of course, that Yuri _was_ his soulmate, that whatever cosmic force it was that drove the universe had somehow reached the decision that he and Yuri needed to be together, but the more he thought about it, the more stupid the idea of soulmates seemed to be.

Victor had loved Yuri long before he had known what Yuri was supposed to be to him, and he knew that some people would argue that that was the bond, acting unknown, but he couldn’t quite believe that. It took his choice out of the equation, and he had chosen to love Yuri, even when it had threatened so often to tear his heart in two, even when there were days when he wasn’t sure it was the best choice, it was a choice he had made. And now, well, he wanted Yuri to choose him too, of course, but not because the choice of loving and being with Patrick had been taken away from Yuri.  

Maybe then, a soulmate was not someone you wanted to love, but who, deep down, you were ultimately going to choose to love.

He wanted to be with Yuri, to be in love with Yuri, because Yuri was the kind of person he had drunkenly demanded Victor fall in love with: someone who would choose the person he was with, even when someone else came along. Someone who would pick the person they had chosen to be with and stick by that choice no matter what.

“Victor!” Yuri called and Victor looked up. “Lunch?” Yuri asked.

Victor waved to show he had heard and skated back towards where Yuri stood by the boards. They didn’t talk as they both packed up and the headed out, walking in the general direction of campus town. It was turning out to be a nice day, just bit of a breeze. The sun fell softly across their shoulders, and filtered itself through the green leaves of the trees above them to create a sort of dappled pattern on the sidewalk before them. There were a lot of questions balanced on Victor’s tongue, but he bit all of them back. None of them felt right, and all of them felt intrusive. A car zoomed past them. They passed a little dancing across a sprinkler in her front yard while someone, her grandmother, perhaps, watched from the front porch.

“Is Pulley okay with you?” Yuri asked.

“Sure,” Victor said.

They lapsed back into silence. Birds were lined up on the telephone lines stretching across the street, watching him and Yuri as they walked past.

 _My darling, if I could spare you from_  
_The heartache of this life,_  
_You know I unquestionably would._  
_But the world is not gentle, and_  
_I can only pray_  
_That you remain Free,_  
_Like the birds reeling high above our heads, and not_  
_Hard and cracked like the sidewalk_ _  
Here beneath our feet_

It was a poem composed out of a vacuum more than one that had come to him naturally, but he liked it. He could already think of a few places where he wanted to revise it a little, and he did as he pulled out his phone to write it down. Yuri’s eyes were fixed on the clouds, and the birds, which had erupted into flight ahead of them.

“Do you ever wish you could skate like birds fly?” Yuri asked.

“Yes,” Victor said without looking up.

“Do you ever wish you could fly?” Yuri asked, looking at him now.

Victor, finished writing down the poem, slipped it neatly into his pocket, and looked over at Yuri.

“But I do fly,” he said. “Not like the birds, but every time I skate, I do. It’s close enough, anyways.”

Yuri nodded, thoughtful as always, and looked back up at the birds. Victor didn’t prompt him to say more, although Yuri obviously longed to. It wouldn’t do to rush Yuri. What needed to be said would be said in time. And he didn’t want Yuri to feel like if he was being nosy.

“I don’t know what to do,” Yuri said at last.

They were balanced on the corner that separated townie housing from campus town. It was a little street, yet somehow, a sharp divide. The difference in culture was palpable, somehow. The townies, the people who _really_ lived here, cared about their properties in a way the students never really did. Their lawns were neater, bursting over with flowers and carefully trimmed grass. Weeds were poking up through the sidewalk in front of the house on the other side of the street and the house itself was in bad need of a repair job on its...everything.

“What do you mean?” Victor asked.

“I don’t…” for a moment, Yuri struggled for words.

“Is this about Patrick?” Victor asked, and then immediately bit back the words.

He knew it was about Patrick. Of course it was. But Yuri’s stumbling was painful, enough that the words had slipped out before Victor remembered that prompting Yuri was something he had just decided against. If this was about Patrick, Yuri deserved to tell Victor in his own time. Yuri’s mouth tightened into a thin, straight line. Victor cringed.

“Sorry,” Victor said.

“It’s alright,” Yuri replied.

He scuffed his toe on the sidewalk for a minute, then glanced up, looked both ways, and crossed the street. Victor followed timidly behind him. On the other side, they were received by a cracked and broken curb. A chunk of cement had fallen into the street. Yuri picked it up and set it delicately back in place.

“It’s just going to fall out again,” Victor said.

Yuri shrugged. “People are always taking this turn too quickly. If it falls out, it falls out. But at least for now it won’t be in the middle of the street.”

Victor was tempted, for a moment, to point out that it had not been in the middle of the street, but in the gutter, but he refrained. If Yuri wanted to put it back, then Victor wasn’t going to stop him. Yuri’s task done, though, they turned and started walking towards the restaurants that lined the streets farther into campustown.

“You’re right,” Yuri said after a moment. “This is about Patrick. So you know then?”

“Phichit might have mentioned it to Theia and I this morning at Graeme’s,” Victor said softly.

He didn’t mention Patrick’s own confession of guilt. That seemed like the opposite of something Yuri would want to hear right now, all things considered, especially since Patrick had not seemed all that sorry. Sorry that he had hurt Yuri, sure, but not sorry about choosing Nolan, a stranger, over a man he had been in a relationship with for years.

Yuri sighed. “What did I do wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Victor said.

Yuri’s eyes flicked to Victor in a way that suggested that he didn’t not believe Victor’s immediate rejection of his fault, but it was true. From what Victor knew, there was truly nothing Yuri could have done to change the situation. Patrick had been selfish, something Yuri just...wasn’t.

“Sometimes,” he hesitated a moment, trying to figure out how to explain what he needed to say the best.

“It’s okay, Victor,” Yuri said, “you don’t have to—”

“But I want to,” Victor said. “Yuri, what Patrick did; it was completely unfair and thoughtless and I honestly thought better of him.”

Yuri tensed again and Victor hurried on, trying to explain himself and his thoughts as quickly as he could before he alienated Yuri.

“And none of that is your fault, Yuri,” Victor said. “Sometimes, people do stupid things. We break hearts for no good reason. And it’s terrible, but it’s what happens. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“So you’re saying I couldn’t have done anything to change this?” Yuri asked, and his voice sounded rough.

“Oh, Yuri,” Victor said.

He stopped dead on the sidewalk, realization hitting him. He grabbed Yuri’s arm before Yuri could go any farther and turned his friend, his soulmate to face him.

“I’m sorry,” Victor said. “About Patrick. About all of it. You—”

He faltered a moment, trying to figure out how to word things so as not to offend Yuri, and not to imply things he didn’t mean.

“You loved him. And it should have been enough for him. It would have been enough for anyone in their right minds. But no. I don’t think you could have done anything to change this. But that’s not—that’s not your fault either. Loving people, giving them your time; it should be enough. I don’t know why it’s not always though.”  

Yuri glanced away. Behind his glasses, Victor could see the beginnings of tears in Yuri’s eyes. Carefully, he brushed away some of Yuri’s hair.

“It would be better if I could have done something,” Yuri said quietly.

“I know,” Victor said quietly.

Yuri, at last, glanced up at him and understanding passed between them. Victor let go of Yuri’s arm. They started walking again, shoulders brushing against each other.

“I still love him,” Yuri said.

“I know,” Victor said again.

“But the things is I don’t know what to do. It’s...what do I do with that? It doesn’t matter how I feel. I don’t get a say in this. And I hate it, and I’m mad at him for making me feel like this, but I still love him. It’s stupid, but it’s how it is”

“It’s not stupid,” Victor said. “If it’s how you feel, then it’s not stupid.”

“Hmmm,” Yuri said, pressing his lips together again, and Victor could tell that he didn’t really agree.

For a minute, Victor scrambled for the right words to convince Yuri otherwise, and then he thought of Chris, and that conversation from hell in the bathroom of the club they went to during the Finals. He had been a different place emotionally than Yuri was in now, but he still remembered Chris’ words, the way he had been ever so slightly disappointed at Victor’s ignorance to the true matters of the heart.

“You don’t choose who you love,” Victor said, trying to paraphrase Chris as well as he could. “I mean you do, but not really. What it really comes down to how you love them. The choice comes when someone else comes along. And right now, you still want to chose Patrick. That makes sense, if you ask me.”

Yuri squinted, and Victor could tell he was struggling to process what Victor had just said to him.

“It does?” Yuri asked. “That I’d choose Patrick?”

“Of course,” Victor said, shrugging. “You were in a relationship with him for, what...three years? That doesn’t go away overnight.”

“It does for some people apparently,” Yuri grumbled.

“I’m sorry,” Victor said.

“It’s not your fault,” Yuri said. “I mean, truthfully, I think I saw this coming. Nothing gold can stay and all that.”

“Don’t,” Victor said, “don’t say that.”

“But it’s true,” Yuri said. “You’re the poet, Victor, aren’t you? You know how it goes.”

“Sure,” Victor said, “but I’ve never liked that poem. It’s silly, and unnecessarily defeatist.”

Yuri’s brows shot up at his tone.

“It’s just,” Victor went on, trying to explain himself. “I can’t...I can’t believe that everything is like that. I appreciate that there is some inevitable heat death of the universe or something and one day we’ll all be nothing but dust. ‘We are the stuff that dreams are made of’ etcetera, etcetera, but I just...the things that matter, that _really_ matter you know, they have to last, don’t they? Even after people die or move on? Because that’s not just some small, insignificant thing. It’s a big thing. It matters. Not past tense, but present, because...I don’t know. If something really is allowed to leave its fingerprints on your life like that then it has to last. Saying it goes away eventually is like saying it’s insignificant. And I know that it is, really, in the grand scheme of history, but conceding that it doesn’t really matter because there are so many other things that matter more is stupid. If it matters to you, it matters. End of story. And if it’s always going to stay with you, and it’s always going to be this good thing that you remember, then it stays gold, even if it’s only in your memories. And even after you die, I feel like it lives on somehow.”

Victor blushed a little at his rant, but he wasn’t sorry for giving it. His mother had been the first person to read him that poem, who had made him fall in love with poetry in the first place. He had argued with her once about how silly that thought was, that nothing gold could stay. The point of gold was that it never tarnishes, that it stays gold forever. She had laughed, but eventually had conceded that he might be onto something.

Yuri chuckled and hesitantly, Victor smiled.

“Do you ever feel anything small?” Yuri asked, glancing over at him curiously.

“What?” Victor asked, frowning.

“Everything is extreme with you,” Yuri said, gesturing with his hands to clarify his point. “You only seem to feel things or think things in a big way.”

“Oh,” Victor said.

“It’s not bad,” Yuri said hurriedly. “It’s just...part of who you are.”

He hesitated and then glanced away, blushing.

“Thank you,” Victor said.

Yuri shrugged. “I’m the one who should be thanking you,” he said. He glanced over at Victor and smiled. “It’s nice, to be listened to. To be...I don’t know. Validated? I guess? I know things between us aren’t ideal—”

“I don’t care about that,” Victor said, waving it away. “Yuri, before anything else, you’re my friend. I want you to be happy, and if you ever need me, I’ll be here for you because of that, not for any other reason. I’m sorry, truly, about Patrick. It’s not fair, but don’t just write it off as something that doesn’t matter. it does. That’s why you’re so upset.”

Yuri studied him for a moment, then smiled. It was sad and a little broken, but it was still a smile, and Victor’s heart lifted a tad. It was hard to say if things between them would be from here out, but that smile gave him hope. Yuri was upset, very reasonably, right now. He had just broken up with his boyfriend. But maybe, in a few weeks, perhaps a few months...things could change between them. Just maybe. What mattered right now, though, was being there for Yuri as a friend, as Victor promised he would be. Later...they could open the question of their bond, but only when Yuri was ready for it, if he ever was. And if he wasn’t, well...Victor would learn to live with that.

“So,” Yuri said. “I don’t think we ever actually decided. Where was it you want to get lunch? Pulley? We could go to Colonel’s if you prefer that right now? Or Pho Sho?”

They had, but Victor shrugged. “Whatever you think is best,” he said.

Yuri paused for a moment. “Pulley,” he said firmly. “I could go for a shake right about now, I think.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Victor replied.

He smiled at Yuri and Yuri smiled back. He had no plan. No real way to play this out. But that was fine. Wherever Yuri went, he would gladly follow. He had time. He had all the time in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a save from (and some hope for) Victor! 
> 
> I'm sorry the chapter's so late tonight fam; I have a genetics midterm this week that I've basically been spending every spare minute today trying to get ret for. Since the test is on Wednesday, it might be another late posting for the next update too, but at this point, I really don't know.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight. I'm starting to feel somewhat ret for this test, so I'm going to post now, but I still have a lot to do today, so I'll aim to respond to unanswered comments after the test tonight/tomorrow.

In the days that followed, he and Yuri spent a lot of time in the same space. Sometimes Yuri would talk to him, ask him questions about the poetry he was writing. Sometimes a few sniffs turned into a stream of tears as something reminded Yuri of Patrick, and the fact that the two of them were no longer together. At first when that happened, Victor would just pat Yuri’s shoulder awkwardly and sit besides him (he had never been good with people crying in front of him), but as began happening more often, Victor got more comfortable wrapping his arms around Yuri’s shoulder, or giving him a hug, and just holding onto him through it all. He did his best to remind Yuri in little ways that he was there for him, but was always careful to not to incorrectly imply any expectations on his part. 

Mostly, however, as school started up, Yuri would just come over in the evenings after practice and Victor would come up with something for dinner (always self-conscious of his own poor cooking skills but doing his best all the same). Yuri would sit on the couch studying while Victor labored in the kitchen. The first time, they had sat awkwardly at the kitchen table, but after that, they had eaten on the couch, plates balanced on their laps. Sometimes they would talk and joke around and it would almost, almost, seem like Yuri was back to his old self. Sometimes Victor would ask Yuri about what he was studying, and Yuri revealed to him the secrets of the stars, defined their beauty with complex scientific phrasing, and Victor would lose himself in the wonder that filled Yuri’s eyes. Sometimes, they didn’t talk at all, but it was a comfortable silence, like what had existed between them in the cabin, filled with patience and understanding. 

It was a beautiful day when it happened. One of the days Victor had imagined filling the rest of his life earlier that spring. The clouds marched steadily across a sky that he had never imagined could be so big and blue. The trees lifted their branched proudly into the air and their leaves barely rustled at the passing wind. It all seemed like such a sharp photograph, and that’s how it stayed in his mind. He had been helping Yuri play with choreography for his programs. Even in the days that had followed his announcement, Yuri had still inexplicably settled on the theme of “love.” Victor was thankful; the theme was perfect, and he would have been sad if Yuri had abandoned it to despair. 

But today was not for Yuri, who had some kind of advanced physics lab until 6:00. Today was for Victor. He changed quickly. He was pleased to note as he left for the ice that the piece of duct tape on his locker next to Yuri’s was starting to look worn and eternal after only being there for a year. Someone, at some point, at colored a gold medal and a Russian flag on it. Probably Phichit, but it was hard to say. There were a lot of other skaters here that Victor had made a passing sort of friendship with over the last year. 

He hummed to himself as he started towards the rink. He had some ideas for his program that he wanted to run by Ciao Ciao before he started today. The weather was good. Tonight, he would see Yuri. Things were looking up, for once. 

He almost didn’t notice the two people standing by the boards talking, but the Ciao Ciao called his name and he did a double take as he glanced over at them.  

“Yakov?” he asked, heart stopping. 

“Vitya.”

The old man was as gruff as ever, but he was smiling, or at least, as close to a smile as Victor had ever seen him give. 

“I’ll let you two talk,” Ciao Ciao said, stepping away from Victor’s old coach. 

He patted Victor’s shoulder as he passed and glanced back at Yakov with a smile. 

“It’s been a pleasure,” Ciao Ciao said softly, so that only Victor could hear him. 

Before Victor could ask him what he meant, though, the man was gone. He turned to look back at Yakov. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked before Yakov could speak. 

He felt defensive, somehow, and betrayed too. Betrayed by whom, he wasn’t sure. Yakov, perhaps. Or the universe as a whole. A part of himself that he was doing his best to ignore was poking at the truth of why Yakov was here and it left terror in his heart and nausea rolling in his gut. The warm day, the potential that it carried, that had felt so present just five minutes ago was gone. 

“Vitya…” Yakov started. 

Victor flinched at the endearment and Yakov grimaced. 

“I thought you had retired,” Victor said. 

His voice sounded cold, but it didn’t shame him as it once might have. He was shivering. Or maybe he was shaking. It was hard to say. He needed something to distract himself. He started pulling off his skate guards, but Yakov reached out and grabbed his hand, stopping him. 

“Vitya, that was never meant to be long term and you know it.”

Victor swallowed. He didn’t turn his face up to look at his old coach, who he had once considered to be a second father. 

“Did you and Lillia get back together then?” He asked. 

Yakov sighed and pulled away. 

“No,” the old man said. “No we didn’t.”

It was shock more than anything else that jerked Victor’s head up to really look at Yakov for the first time since Ciao Ciao had left them alone. Even if he had thought it would take years, even if he had known what they were both really devoted to at heart, he had thought...he had thought...

“What?” Victor asked. 

Yakov scowled. “You heard me,” he said.

“But you’re soulmates!” Victor objected. 

Yakov waved his words away. 

“As if that truly means anything,” he said. “Vitya, I would have thought that you would know better by now. Don’t tell me that you’re still searching for yours, even after all this time.”

His bitterness left Victor speechless. Yakov had always been gruff, but this...this was unprecedented. Something about his expression must have given away his thoughts because Yakov’s face softened. 

“I didn’t come here to talk about Lillia, though,” Yakov said. “I’m coming back to coaching, and I wanted to let you know in person.”

“Okay,” Victor said. 

He knew what Yakov wanted from him. But, at the same time…

Could he leave Yuri? Could he just forget about the friendship he had forged with Theia and the family he had found here and go back to Russia and his beloved Petersburg and pretend that life here had been, well, a significant improvement over the loneliness he had silently endured for years been back home?

“You’ll be coming back, of course, correct?” Yakov asked. 

A year ago, his response would have been an unhesitant yes. A year ago, Yuri had been as cold as the ice he skated on, and Theia had been friendly but not his friend, and Pontiac had been a constricting suburb that could never compare to the beauty and history of the place where he’d been born and raised. But now, now it was hard to say. He was more attached to this place now. 

“I don’t know,” Victor admitted. 

Yakov looked like Victor had just announced that he was quitting competitive skating to pursue a not-so-promising career in basket weaving.  

“You...you can’t be serious,” Yakov spluttered. 

Victor shrugged. He wasn’t particularly interested in having this conversation right now. It was great that Yakov had come back to coaching, wonderful, really. Yurio probably wouldn’t hesitate to go back home to his grandfather and to Russia. With Yakov’s help, he would have a wonderful junior debut. One day, he could really be a contender in the senior division if he had Yakov grooming him from the start. 

“I have friends here,” Victor said. “Like a family, but better.”

Yakov sighed. “Vitya, can you truly tell me that Celestino is challenging you in the way you need to be? How will your friends help your skating? You have to think about your career here.”

Victor tapped his finger on his cheek as he thought of how to respond. Yakov was right; Ciao Ciao  _ wasn’t  _ challenging him, not really, not in the way that Yakov did. In terms of his career, staying here was the wrong choice. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to think in terms of what was best for his career anymore. He wanted to think in to think in terms of what was best for him, as a person. 

“I’ll think about it,” Victor conceded. “But if you don’t mind…”

Yakov folded his arms, stubborn as ever. “I only want what’s best for you, Vitya,” he said. 

“I know,” Victor replied, stepping out onto the ice. “But sometimes I have to think about what’s best for me too.”

He didn’t give Yakov the chance to reply to that, choosing instead to skate out onto the ice and start warming up. Ciao Ciao returned sometime after that, and he and Yakov must have talked, though Victor, too focused on ignoring them, didn’t notice if they did. Ciao Ciao was as reserved as usual during practice, preferring to let Victor do his own thing, and Yakov took the opportunity to butt in with comments. Victor reluctantly listened to them, knowing that Yakov was right about things he pointed out. 

Ciao Ciao pulled him aside when he had finished practicing. Yakov glanced between them quickly and then said a gruff farewell. He turned and looked back at Victor before he left and the gaze was heavy with expectation. Victor just looked away. 

“Yakov told me you weren’t sure if you were going back,” Ciao Ciao said. 

Victor shrugged. “I need to think about it,” he admitted. 

“I have to say, Victor,” Ciao Ciao said, spreading his hands wide, “I thought you would jump at the chance to go with him. You’re a great skater, and while I think you’re doing fine with me, I also know you probably thrived under his tutelage.”

Again, Victor shrugged. He didn’t know how to explain that, while he knew Ciao Ciao was right, there was more playing into his hesitance than his skating career.

“I like it here,” Victor said. “I like the people.”

Ciao Ciao’s brows shot up. “Surely you had friends back home though? And I lived in St. Petersburg while Yakov coached me. Pontiac is hardly much in comparison.”

He felt like an idiot shrugging a third time, but he did anyways. Ciao Ciao just didn’t understand the whole picture. Yes, Pontiac was truly pathetic when compared to Petersburg, and Detroit wasn’t much better, but the people made the place too, and the memories that he shared with all of them that made Pontiac so meaningful. 

“I haven’t made a decision yet,” he said. “I suppose Yurio is going back without a question?”

“Yes,” Ciao Ciao said. 

He considered Victor heavily for a moment before he nodded a little to himself. 

“I’d be happy to keep you on, Victor, but I just want to make sure you’re making the right choice for yourself, and for the right reasons, alright?”

“Sure,” Victor said. 

“Good,” Ciao Ciao said. “Enjoy your evening.”

“You too,” Victor said with a smile. He slipped away before the coach could keep him any longer. 

OOO

Everyone was already at Patrick’s when Victor got there for movie night. Everyone, of course, except Yuri, who had gone so far as to switch movie pick with Phichit so he could avoid the occasion. Not ideal, of course, but understandable, given the circumstances. Victor was meeting him for dinner at Pulley’s later, which unfortunately meant he would have to wait to tell Yuri what had happened at the rink today. As far as Victor could tell, it wasn’t the kind of thing that could or should be casually mentioned over text. 

“Hey, honey,” Theia said as he slipped into the apartment after Phichit, who had been the one to let him in in the first place. 

Victor waved to her, but his eyes immediately flicked to when Yurio was sitting, moody as ever, in the corner. 

“How’s school going?” he asked. 

Theia shrugged. Yurio didn’t answer. Patrick was doing his best to make himself busy with some lint on the arm of the loveseat. 

“I can’t believe I’m a senior,” Phichit piped up. “Like, this is my last year of high school ever. I have to make it count!”

“Whatever you do,” Patrick said, “do not turn in all of your college applications the that they’re due. It is not a good idea and you won’t get into places that you thought were shoo-ins.”

“I already wrote all of my essays,” Phichit said. 

“Of course you did,” Theia said. 

“Aren’t you only applying to Mesquakie?” Victor asked. 

Phichit shrugged. “I thought I’d try a few other places, too. Some universities back home. You know.”

“Oh,” Victor said. 

Phichit nodded eagerly and dead air settled into the room as conversation died. 

“Did Yakov talk to you today?” Yurio asked, looking up at him. 

Defiance was written in his eyes. Victor sighed. 

“Yes,” he admitted. 

Theia and Phichit glanced between the two of them, their confusion clear on their faces. 

“Yakov talked to you today?” Phichit asked. “What, like, on the phone? What did he want?”

“No, he was here,” Victor said quietly. “He wants me to go back to Russia.”

Theia frowned. “But I thought you said he retired?”

Victor shrugged and settled down on the arm of the loveseat. “For last season, sure. I mean, there was always kind of the potential that he would return once he had smoothed things over with Lillia, but that was always so unlikely that we assumed it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. They’re soulmates, sure, but they’re soulmates with  _ issues _ .”

“But they did?” Theia asked. 

Victor shook his head. 

“Yakov, Lilia...they’re both passionate people, hardcore to the bone. Meet either of them and it’s easy to see why they’re soulmates. They’re cut from the same cloth and all that, but...I don’t know. They were both always too stubborn, and they both always put their careers above each other, which was fine until it wasn’t.”

“So what then?” Phichit asked. 

“He and Lilia gave up. They’re getting divorced, from what it sounds like, actually. He’s coming back to coaching and he wants me to come back on as his student.”

Silence washed over them as his friends processed what he had said. 

“Are you going to?” Patrick asked. 

Victor looked up at him, surprised the other man had spoken, but Patrick looked genuinely curious, and perhaps a tad bit concerned. For his part, Victor just shrugged again. 

“I don’t know,” Victor admitted. “I love all of you. I love being here. You are all the closest thing to a family I’ve had in awhile, but Yakov raised some very good points about my career, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I have goals and I don’t think I can reach them without his help.”

“Oh, honey,” Theia said, reaching up to rub his arm. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Victor said softly. 

Years. He thought he would have years to be here and figure things out with Yuri. Yakov had given him a deadline of two weeks, essentially. The old man in his misguided arrogance had assumed that Victor wouldn’t hesitate to return and had already bought a plane ticket for a one way trip to Petersburg. The flight took off in two weeks. He had two weeks to talk to Yuri and figure out if he wanted to stay or go. 

“Well,” Theia said, heaving a giant breath, “whatever you decide, we’ll support you, and we’ll always be here for you.”

“Thank you,” Victor said, smiling down at her. 

In his corner, Yurio snorted. “You’d be an idiot not to go back,” he grumbled. 

Victor didn’t grace that with a response. Instead, he squeezed onto the loveseat next to Theia and forced a smile onto his face. If this was the last two weeks he was going to get to spend with his family, he wanted to make it count, not weigh it down with sad questions of leaving or staying. 

“So,” he said, making his voice lighthearted. “Are we going to watch a movie or what?”

OOO

“If you could go home, would you?” Victor asked as he and Yuri walked around the park with Makkachin later that night. 

Yuri tilted his head back and squinted at the stars. He had eaten dinner with his lab group, so they had just decided to go for a walk instead. In between considering how to tell Yuri that he might be leaving in two weeks, Victor was trying to decide if this was better or worse than their original plan. On one hand, con, he didn’t get to share a meal with Yuri, but on the other, pro, he got to see Yuri stare at the stars, which always left him a little breathless. 

“I have school,” Yuri said. 

“If you didn’t have school, then,” Victor replied. 

“I don’t think so,” Yuri said. 

He pulled out his phone to take a picture of the moon above the lake and then the two of them continued on. 

“Why not?” Victor asked. 

“Because Celestino is here. I don’t think I can get a coach like him in Hasetsu.”

“What if he came with you?” Victor asked. 

Yuri shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “Yes, then, I guess. Probably.”

“Even if all of us were staying here?” Victor asked. 

“I don’t know,” Yuri said again. He glanced suspiciously over at Victor. “Why are you asking me all of this?”

“Just..thinking,” Victor said. 

“I know what you’d do,” Yuri said. 

“Really?” Victor said, looking over at him in surprise. 

“Well, you’d go back, wouldn’t you?” Yuri asked. “I feel like you’re always talking about it, ‘Petersburg,’ that is.”

“Really?” Victor asked. 

Yuri nodded firmly. 

“About the river and the canals and the little park by your apartment and the Winter Palace and all of it. How you miss the food, how you miss the weather, how you miss your city, how you miss the baker lady who always asks about Makka after he stole rolls off the counter of her shop that one time.”

“Oh,” Victor said softly. “I didn’t realize it.”

“I wouldn’t blame you for going back either,” Yuri continued. “I mean, Peterburg seems like your life, and it’s certainly much more interesting there for you than it is here. And you talk a lot about how you miss getting to see Chris and everyone around the holidays, when you all meet up or whatever.”

“Right,” Victor said. 

“It just seems like...I don’t know,” Yuri said. “It’s just like...there’s more there for you, you know? You like things exciting, and Pontiac is just not very exciting.”

“I suppose it’s not,” Victor said. He chuckled, but his heart was sinking inside his chest. 

Practical, decisive Yuri. Was the man capable of doing anything brash? Probably not. But then, that was part of the reason why Victor loved him. Yuri kept him grounded when he got to be too prone to flights of fancy, and he liked to think that he helped raise Yuri up to soar. 

Yuri was right of course. Petersburg was infinitely more exciting than Pontiac. More than that, it was home, and after a year away, he longed to be somewhere where everything fell into the worldview he had always held. A part of him wanted to go back to the life he had told Yuri about this summer on the steps of the cabin, that he’d been sharing with Yuri more and more recently. He had found a home here in Pontiac with Yuri and Theia and everyone, but he would still be able to talk to all of them from Russia.

“So are you going to go back then?” Yuri asked. 

“What?” Victor asked, looking over at him in surprise. 

“Are you going to go back?” Yuri asked again. “To Petersburg, that is. Phichit texted me while you were all at movie night and told me that Yakov came to see you and Yurio today, and why.”

“Oh,” Victor said. And here he had been thinking that he was being subtle and clever. 

Silence settled between them. Yuri picked up a stray piece of litter and tossed it in the trash as they walked by. 

“I don’t know,” Victor said. “I still haven’t reached any decisions.”

“Why not?” Yuri asked. 

For a moment, he considered spilling his heart to Yuri and telling his soulmate everything. How he had been in love with Yuri since last year, and how it was that love that was keeping him tied to this place even as everything else in him ached to go back home. Distance could be sufficient for maintaining friendships, but it would never be enough to help foster whatever was beginning to form between he and Yuri into something more. If he left now, he may very well never get another shot at this. 

But of course he couldn’t say any of that, if only because Yuri wasn’t in a place yet where he was ready to hear it. 

“Lots of different reasons, I guess,” Victor said softly. “You all are like family to me, after all.”

“Oh,” Yuri said. “Family...I didn’t realize.”

“Of course,” Victor said, relief filling him that Yuri had believed the small mis-truth. “Theia is such a mom, you know, and Yurio...I suppose he’s kind of like my little brother. And...forgive me for saying so, but I really think you might be one of my best friends.”

“You too,” Yuri said quietly. “One of my best friends, that is.”

Victor’s heart sang to hear those words said aloud, to know that this key component of his relationship with Yuri was reciprocated. He almost reached out and took Yuri’s hand, if only so that he could hold it for a little while, but he held back. The ball was in Yuri’s court now, and he needed to give Yuri space before they went any farther. 

“I’m glad,” Victor replied. 

Yuri glanced over at him and smiled briefly before looking away again. 

“So...when are you supposed to leave?” Yuri asked. 

All of the warmth that had filled Victor two seconds ago rushed out. The night air, which had been heavy with the last sigh of summer, turned cold. Yuri wasn’t asking him to stay. Yuri was asking when he was going, like if it had already been decided, despite everything he had just said. 

“Two weeks,” he choked out. “Yakov already bought the ticket.”

Yuri stopped and Victor paused with him. 

“That’s...soon,” Yuri said. 

Behind his glances, his eyes were wide. Victor just shrugged. 

“Don’t want to waste any time, I guess,” he said. “And I don’t think it’s soon enough for Yurio.”

He chuckled at his little joke, but Yuri barely seemed to take any amusement in it. 

“I’ll miss you if you go,” Yuri said softly. “You know, as my...friend.”

“I’m going to miss you too,” Victor said. 

“Well,” Yuri said, taking a deep breath, “I guess we’ll just have to make this time count. Two weeks can be a lot of time when you think about it.”

“Sure,” Victor said. 

He forced himself to smile even though all he felt like doing was retching up his dinner. Yuri just wanted to be his friend. That was it. And they could still be friends with half a world between them, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cackles* 
> 
> Just remember that Muse said that the ending doesn't suck before you pull out pitchforks on me.


	27. Chapter 27

“It’s weird to think that it was just over a year ago that we met you and we were bringing you here for the first time,” Theia said.

Victor laughed and pulled a few macbites out of the overflowing basket Donald had dumped in front of them as soon as he had seen them come in. Tomorrow. He was leaving tomorrow. Theia had been upset when he told her the news, but they had sat down and had coffee together and said their goodbyes. He was going to miss her. Theia the mom. They would stay in touch, though. He knew that. Theia wouldn’t be able to help asking him how things were going and he wouldn’t be able to help calling her and asking for advice or the opportunity to talk things through with her when life got messy.

“Seriously, though,” Phichit said, propping his chin on his hand. “We’ll miss you. Both of you.”

“Well, I’m always just a phone call away if you need me,” Victor said. He glanced over at where Yuri was sitting quietly at the end of the table, playing with a straw wrapper.

“If _any_ of you need me.”

Yuri didn’t glance up and Victor tried his best not to be hurt. He had pulled Phichit aside after their last practice together today. They had shared hugs, promises that Victor had every intention of keeping about coming to visit Pontiac in the summer and not being a stranger and just...being there.

He hadn’t been able to work up the strength to talk to Yuri about everything again though, not since their conversation two weeks ago when Yuri had all but ushered him out the door. They had said they were going to make their two weeks count, but they hadn’t done anything together and Yuri had become just as withdrawn as he had been a year ago. In a lot of ways, looking around the table tonight, he could see how much things had changed. In others, though, he supposed nothing had changed at all.

“It’s going to be weird not seeing you guys every day,” Victor said before conversation could lull. “You’re all going to have to send me daily updates. I want to know what you’re all up to.”

Theia laughed, but it sounded nervous. “I mean, I still just can’t get over the fact that I’m a senior.”

“Ohmygod, right?” Phichit said. “This time next year, I’ll be a proud student at Mesquaki. Yuri, you and I are going to go to school together for a whole year!”

Yuri looked up forlornly. “Yay,” he said softly, but it was easy to tell his heart wasn’t in it.

“You’re not graduating this year?” Victor demanded.

Yuri shook his head. “I’ve always been a full time student, but I tend to take a lighter course load because...skating... so I’m graduating next year.”

“Oh,” Victor said.

Well, there was a small comfort at least. Yuri wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. He would be here when Victor came to visit, which Victor had every intention of doing.

“Patrick’s not graduating until next year either, aren’t you, P?”

Theia nudged him sharply and Patrick looked up from the napkin he was tearing apart in surprise.

“What? No. I’ve been...doing what Yuri’s been doing. Same sort of deal.”

His piece done, Patrick ducked his head down and went to back to his napkin. He and Yuri bookended the table, sitting as far apart from each other as possible. It hadn’t seemed to occur to either of them that they were now forced to look at each other unless they otherwise occupied themselves. For the most part, Yuri had been staying fixated on his straw wrapper. Patrick kept sneaking up looks at Yuri though, like if he was a puppy that had been left out in the rain. It was a stark contrast to the bubbly, talkative person he had been a year ago.

Theia examined both of the boys, lips pressed together in a tight, thin line, and then turned to Yurio.

“Are you excited to go back?” she asked.

“Anything to get out of this shithole,” Yurio grumbled.

Victor sighed. Phichit laughed. Theia smiled and launched herself bravely into the battle of words that was any conversation with Yurio until Donald brought out their orders. They talked. They laughed. They ate. And somewhere in all of it, Victor almost, almost managed to forget that he was leaving tomorrow, and more than that, his soulmate had been the one to ask him to leave in the first place.

OOO

He wouldn’t have noticed it if Makka hadn’t suddenly popped up on the bed and let out a low growl, but then it—the knock—came again, and Victor knew he wasn’t imagining things.

_Why_ someone had decided to come knock on his door at this time of night was a mystery to him, but he dragged himself out of bed all the same. He grabbed the pair of sweats he had discarded on the floor before he tromped down the stairs and the knock came again. Makkachin flew down the steps.

“In a minute!” Victor called.

He wasn’t entirely convinced he was awake. He had had plenty of dreams, after all, where he had dreamt he had woken up and checked the time and gone about his day. Maybe this was just another dream like that. Maybe he would wake up in bed an hour or so from now and realized that there had been no knock and he had never gotten out of bed at all.

The knock came again and Victor went down to meet Makka at the door. The poodle’s tail was wagging wildly, thumping against the wall. Whoever it was, it was probably someone they knew then. He grabbed Makka’s collar to make sure he wouldn’t jump and unlocked the door.

Yuri was standing there when Victor pulled it open.

And here was Victor, without a shirt on.

Definitely a dream, then.

“Victor,” Yuri said, fidgeting with the straps of the bag slung across his shoulders.

Victor had gone to bed regretting the fact that he hadn’t pulled Yuri aside these past two weeks and told his friend how he felt and now, here was Yuri. Yuri, who had disappeared so quickly after dinner that it had been like he had vanished into thin air. Even Patrick had stuck around to say one last goodbye. But Yuri had been gone so quickly that Victor had felt the burn of tears in the back of his throat. His soulmate didn’t even care enough to try and pretend like if he wanted Victor here.

“What...what are you doing here?” Victor asked.

“Oh, um,” Yuri went back to fiddling with the strap again. “Well, that.”

If this really was a dream, Victor didn’t want it to end. He leaned against the door jamb and smiled. Any time with Yuri was good time, even if Yuri could barely get a word out.

“I just...I think we said something about going stargazing this summer and then we never actually went stargazing this summer and I felt bad because you’re leaving tomorrow and I know you are actually kind of interested in the stars and stuff and I don’t know I was kind of looking forward to it and then we never did it so I was going to go out anyways tonight because it’s a clear night and you’re leaving tomorrow and then I was walking over and I figured I might just invite you along anyways because why not and well.”

He reached an abrupt stop in his speech and went back to toying with the strap across his chest. He didn’t lift his head to look at Victor directly, but Victor could see his eyes flicking up to assess Victor’s reaction through his lashes all the same. It was painfully adorable.

“It’s stupid and you’re probably upset that I woke you up—which I’m sorry about, by the way—but I just thought I’d, you know, check.”

Yuri finally tipped his chin up to look at Victor more squarely. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. He chewed on his lip.

Oh, how Victor hoped that this was not a dream.

“I’d love to,” Victor said softly.

Yuri’s face lit up like...like a million stars. Like fireworks reflecting off of Lake Michigan. Like the only sun Victor ever wanted to see again. It was the most beautiful thing in the world.

“Really?” Yuri asked.

Victor chuckled. “Yeah, let me just…” he gestured to his torso and Yuri blushed.

“Let me grab a shirt,” he finished.

“Right,” Yuri squeaked.

Victor let go of Makkachin and gestured for Yuri to follow him inside the apartment. He didn’t wait to see if Yuri actually followed—his mind was too busy reeling from this sudden change of events. Yuri. Here. Wanting to go stargazing. He was a little more awake now, and a little more confident that this was not a dream. It was too good to be a dream. He was an incredibly imaginative person often prone to flights of fancy, but even he couldn’t cook something this good up on his own.

He could hear Yuri cooing to Makka down in the living room as he sprinted up the stairs to the loft, taking them two at a time. His heart was thrumming. Yuri. Yuri here. Yuri was here and wanting to see him.

It was almost like a date.

He grabbed the nearest shirt he could find—a t-shirt worn soft and thin with time—and tugged it on over his head before coming back down the stairs.

Yuri had set down his telescope and was scratching Makka behind the ears. The poodle’s tail was thumping against the floor in happiness. The scene made Victor smile. It was another one of those moments that seemed to come every now and then with Yuri, this idea that somehow, the universe _wanted_ them to be together, and was showing Victor all the perfect little ways that Yuri fit into his life. Although, he supposed, there wasn’t any doubt to whether or not the universe wanted them to be together; they were soulmates after all. It was more like the universe was reminding them why they would be perfect together.

“He loves it when people do that,” Victor said, walking up besides Yuri and leaning on the back of the couch. “Scratch his ears, that is.”

“Sirius loves it too.” Yuri said. He glanced up at Victor and smiled. “You should meet him.”

“Maybe someday,” Victor said.

Hopefully. If Yuri ever wanted to claim what was between them, which, from the way they had spoken the other night, didn’t seem likely. Yuri hadn’t referenced their soulmate bond. Just told Victor that Victor was one of his best friends. Just a friend. Nothing more. And he had just assumed Victor was leaving, practically pushing him out the door, like if the fact that Victor would stay, would want to stay for him, was inconceivable. Clearly, it was something that Yuri had thought of so little that he couldn’t imagine Victor wanting anything else either.

Yuri nodded and stood up, moment over.

“Do you want to bring Makka with us?” he asked.

For a second, Vitor considered it, but then he shook his head. He loved Makka, and he loved getting to spend time watching Yuri interact with his beloved companion, but tonight he wanted Yuri all to himself.

“Just us,” he said, and Yuri smiled.

“Alright then,” Yuri said, scooping up his telescope. He took a deep breath and it sounded a little shaky. He fiddled with the strap of the scope where it crossed across his chest, seeming to steel himself, and then he looked back up at Victor.

“Shall we be off then?” he asked.

Victor nodded and, together, they headed for the door, pausing only when Victor slid on the loafers he had left on the mat besides it.

OOO

The evening air was warm, summer still in full swing. Victor had always been a winter person, preferring the sharp bite and the clarity of the crisp winter air over the hazy breath of summer, but even so, the night tonight was lovely. Lovely enough that he took his eyes off of Yuri so he could tilt his head back, close his eyes, and breathe it in. The soft smell of flowers filled the air along with the heavy odor of the lake, a few blocks off, and just the barest hint of rain. It was a soft night, the kind of night that wrapped itself around then and nuzzled itself on their shoulders, yawning and coaxing them to sleep. The waving sound of cicadas accompanied them as they started off.

“Theia always goes home for the summer,” Yuri said. “Patrick comes up sometimes. Mostly it’s always just been Phichit and I though.”

“Sounds lonely,” Victor said, cracking open his eyes and glancing over at his soulmate again.

Yuri just shrugged. “It’s...quiet, which I don’t think is so bad. Last summer, we broke into the public pool after hours. Jumped the fence. I was afraid the entire time that we’d get caught, but it was fun.”

Victor chuckled. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a rule breaker,” he said.

Yuri blushed up to his ears. “Floating there, looking up at the stars; I could almost convince myself I was among them. Almost.”

“That sounds beautiful,” Victor said.

“It was,” Yuri replied.

The fell into companionable silence again, their feet scuffing along the concrete. Somewhere, a fire engine was blaring, rushing off to somewhere with much more haste than the summer night would have suggested anyone could move. They reached Campus town, passing through the park behind the row of named student houses. Mind palace. Over the Rainbow. The Big Lehouseki. A bass was thumping from some party that was spilling out of one of them. He could hear everyone singing along with the chorus of the song. Cars rushed by on the street just beyond. There was so much history here. So much meaning. How could he ever leave it all behind?

There was the little patch of grass that they had picnicked at so many times this summer, Phichit filling out scholarship forms, Yurio grumbling about missing his cat, and Yuri reading that new book by Neil DeGrasse Tyson.

There was the path where Phichit had traced his outline and they had drawn chalk figures after they had sent Phichit to the store for groceries and he had come back with a box of ice cream sandwiches and a carton of chalk.

There was the tree he had hidden behind when they had all had a snowball fight earlier that spring. Patrick had ambushed Theia and him as they walked back from campus. At some point, someone had texted Yuri for backup, and his soulmate had shown up with Phichit on a team of their own. They had all laughed even as the cold and snow had numbed their fingers and toes.

There was the spot where they had raked up leaves in the fall, and spent all day jumping into them and taking photos. He still had the one he’s taken of Makka that day saved as his lock screen background.

There was the bench he had settled into so often to write poetry, overlooking the lake. He had sat there on one of his first nights here, on his walk with Makkachin.

All this, all this peace, that was what he was leaving behind. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. He had grown to fall in love with peace and quiet, grown to crave it. Petersburg would be different when he came home; that was the nature of cities, after all. Places as old as Petersburg may hold onto their history, but they were also constantly changing, constantly reinventing themselves, and Victor had grown tired of reinventing himself. For once in his life, he just wanted to...be Victor.

“Turn here,” Yuri said, and Victor pulled himself out of his thoughts.

Yuri was gesturing down the bridge Victor had gone down only once before, that day, all those months ago, when he had found out that Yuri was his soulmate.

“It’s a good place for stargazing,” Yuri said, blushing and nervous now at Victor’s slight hesitation. “Far away from people and light pollution. Or at least, as far away as you can get in Pontiac. I bike sometimes out somewhere that’s even farther, but…”

“Sounds good,” Victor said, his voice tight.

Yuri didn’t say anything for a moment as they started across the bridge, assessing Victor in his silence, and then he chuckled.

“Some people call this dick island, you know.”

In spite of the strange feeling in his chest, Victor looked over at Yuri and laughed.

“Why’s that?” he asked.

Yuri’s answering smile was crooked. “Because when you look at it on a map, it kind of looks like one, I guess, and it doesn’t have any official name, so it stuck.”

“I wish I could say I’m surprised,” Victor said, still chuckling a little.

“American college,” Yuri muttered, “it’s an experience.”

“I wish I could stay,” Victor said softly. “Have more adventures with all of you.”

Yuri didn’t have an answer to that, and Victor’s treacherous heart whispered that it was because Yuri didn’t want him to stay. He swallowed back the thought and glanced away, even as they reached the island and climbed up the little hill past the trees to the wide open end. Yuri laid out his blanket, then started setting up his telescope. Victor settled down quietly besides him. Is this really how it was going to end? With he and Yuri only inches closer than they had been when he arrived? They should be closer. They had come so far since those first distant days. He started to open his mouth to say something, but then Yuri leaned back on his heels, eyes fixed to the south, and hummed in satisfaction.

“What is it?” Victor asked.

“Sagittarius is out tonight,” Yuri said. “My constellation, as I think of it. He’s just barely out, but still there.”

“Where?” Victor asked, pushing up to kneel besides Yuri.

His soulmate pointed to a cluster of stars just above the trees that didn’t look like much really, but Victor took his word for it.

“Capricorn hasn’t come up yet—that’s yours,” Yuri said.

“Oh,” Victor replied.

He had wondered if going stargazing with Yuri would open up some window to the cosmos, allow him to see it all with some new understanding that lent order to its beauty, but it didn’t. The stars were still just the stars, and while Yuri was well versed in the secrets, being with Yuri did not mean that Victor was immediately privy to them. It was disheartening in a way he couldn’t begin to explain; it just left him feeling lonely, and distant, and questioning whether he should have come at all. Some stargazing companion he was. He barely knew what any of these constellations were, let alone where to look for them, or even what some of them might have looked like.

“Want to know a secret?” Yuri asked, glancing over at him with a sweet little smile.

“Sure…” Victor said, already bracing himself against a sentiment he was already certain was going to go right over his head.

“Sometimes,” Yuri said, “most times, actually, I make up my own constellations for the stars, and tell myself my own stories to go along with them. I know how to find all the real ones, and I know all of those stories, but...I don’t know. I like mine better.”

“Why?” Victor asked.

Yuri shrugged and fiddled with his telescope. “I don’t know,” he said. “Sometimes, looking at the stars, what they’re supposed to be isn’t always what they are, you know? Sometimes you have to rewrite the story to fit what’s actually happening.”

“How would you tell our story?” Victor asked.

The words slipped out before he could stop them, and he sucked in a fearful breath, wishing that he could just take them back. But Yuri was already tilting his head to study Victor in that curious way he sometimes did, as if Victor was some celestial body that Yuri had encountered unexpectedly and now didn’t know how to classify.

“Forget it,” Victor said, “it’s—”

“Our story,” Yuri said, considering.

He frowned and fiddled with his telescope again.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “You’re the poet; you could probably tell it better than I could, but…”

Victor barely breathed as he settled down next to Yuri once more. Yuri didn’t think he was being silly, or strange. He had taken Victor’s question seriously, as he took so much of their relationship. He always weighed the words Victor said carefully, never dismissing them for fancy or idle thoughts. It was something, Victor realized, he would miss very much when he went back home. Whenever people didn’t want to deal with him, they had a tendency to shut down what he had to say as the blabbering of a self-obsessed, ditsy child.

“I think,” Yuri said, “if we were a constellation that we would stretch across the sky, and it would look like a dance, sometimes coming together and sometimes coming apart, but still one, and always tied together.”

“Why?” Victor asked.

“Well,” Yuri said, “that’s how we’ve always been, haven’t we? Sometimes, we’re really close, and then sometimes, you get distant or I do, but we always come back to each other in the end.”

“Do we?” Victor asked. His voice felt raw, and a lump had risen in his throat.

He was leaving tomorrow. Probably forever, and Yuri had been the one who had wanted him to leave in the first place. How could they come together again after that?

“Of course,” Yuri said, reaching out to brush away Victor’s bangs. “Victor, we’re soulmates after all.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in all that,” Victor said. His accompanying laugh was bitter.

Yuri frowned that thoughtful frown. “I don’t, not really,” he admitted. “It all seems...arbitrary. Like, just because this person has been set aside for you by the universe, you two will automatically fall in love and be happy forever and ever. That’s not what real relationships are like.”

“Then how can you say we’ll come together again?” Victor asked. “If it’s all so arbitrary, then how do you know that you won’t find someone new and I’ll find someone and we’ll live out our lives happy with other people?”

Yuri sighed. “Because if I don’t believe it then your leaving would break my heart, Victor.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and when they did, Victor looked up at Yuri in shock. For once, words escaped him, which was probably for the best as Yuri quickly plunged on.

“I don’t,” Yuri said, his hands fluttering like nervous birds—the poem unfurled in Victor’s head before he could stop it.

_Strong quick hands dancing,_   
_Drifting in front of us like_   
_Birds, drawing out_   
_His words, painting_   
_On a canvas crafted_ _  
Out of thin air._

_I asked him how he saw the world_   
_And he laughed and said_ _  
"In technicolor"_

“I don’t have a word for how I feel or what we are, but I know it has to be something special, and important, or the idea of you leaving wouldn’t make me feel so sad. I want to keep spending time with you. I want to be able to share my life with you and get to hear about yours. I want to keep skating with you and making _katsudon_ with you and not having to be anything but myself with you.”

Oh, there was another poem.

_We live_   
_In the quiet moments_   
_The spaces pressed between_   
_The times when_ _  
We are not ourselves._

“It sounds stupid when I say it outloud,” Yuri muttered, looking away. Even in the darkness, Victor could see a blush rising up to his ears.

“I don’t think it’s stupid at all,” Victor said.

Gingerly, he reached out and took Yuri’s hand in both of his own. Yuri didn’t look back up at him, but he shifted his head enough to look down at where his hand was clasped between Victor’s. For a moment, neither of them breathed.

“I wish I could stay,” Victor breathed.

“Then do,” Yuri said, and now his soulmate looked up at him, brown eyes blazing in the heavy dark of the summer night.

Victor’s shoulders slumped.

“I can’t,” he said. “The paperwork has already been done. I’m Yakov’s student now, training with him club. I have to go back. The decision’s out of my hands.”

Yuri’s eyes shuttered close, and the soft breath he exhaled, close enough now that Victor felt it brush against his cheeks, was ragged.

“We’ll come back together again,” he said. “We have to.”

Victor let go of Yuri’s hand to brush some of Yuri’s hair away from his eyes.

“Of course we will,” Victor said.

His world felt as though it had been turned on its head. Yuri—Yuri wanted him to stay. Victor didn’t have the heart to tell his soulmate that it was because of him that Victor had decided to leave in the first place. A fool. He’d been a fool to think that Yuri didn’t want him here. Everything they had been through in the past few months had to prove otherwise, and he and Yuri had frequently read each other’s words wrong. Actions—that was what had to matter between them, far more than words.

“Now come on,” Victor said. “You were going to show me the stars. Maybe, we can trace out our story up there too.”

Yuri huffed out a little laugh. “Not everything is written in the stars, Victor,” he said.

“Perhaps,” Victor said, shrugging, and tugging Yuri down to lie down next to him, “but I don’t see why some things can’t be.”

“Mmmm,” Yuri said, tilting his head to rest on Victor’s shoulder. “That would be nice.”

Tentatively, Victor reached up to run his fingers through Yuri’s hair. They were on the verge of something here, something wonderful. But—

But nothing. No more buts. They had something wonderful, and it wasn’t going to stop being wonderful just because tomorrow, Victor was leaving. It would not be forever. Their story, as Yuri had said before, stretched across the entire sky. This was not the end, just the middle, the break before the continued over the horizon. It wasn’t until the world shifted on that he would see how they once more came together.

“Oh,” Victor gasped, “I think I can see us!”

“Where,” Yuri asked, turning his head to try and see where Victor was pointing.

“There,” Victor said, directing Yuri’s gaze. “See how there are those two stars there? And then two more? Dancing, just like you said. Coming together and apart. _What stars are these/that grace the evening skies,”_ Victor sang. “ _Are they mine and/my soulmates lives?”_

Yuri chuckled.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes I think they are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cackles* 
> 
> Anyone ready for a BatMads plot twist? _**That's not the end of the story**_
> 
> I mean, it is. Like...WitS itself is over. 
> 
> When I set out with WitS, I wanted to write a story that wasn't *just* a story. WitS, for me, was an experimentation of style. I wanted to see if I could do what all the big-kid writers could do. I wanted to see if I would be able to write something with a true meaning behind it (i.e., what it means to love somebody/be in a relationship with them), and pose my characters in such a way that they could ruminate on that meaning for me and the audience and grow as they made new realizations, as well as provide insights for us. And I did that. I know I did that because I saw you guys talking about it in the comments throughout the fic and because I reached new understandings of my own while writing this. 
> 
> So what do I mean when I say it's not over? Well, this: 
> 
> For those of you who have been with me since before I had even set fingers to the keys to write the first chapter of this fic, you know that it was originally intended to span two years. But, obviously, it only takes up un singular year. So what gives? 
> 
> What gives is that I had to cut the entire second half because it was literally just Drama™ and I was just scrolling through the yoi meta tag on tumblr (as I do)...and it suddenly occurred to me that the plot developments in the second half of the fic were extremely out of character for literally everyone.  
> So all that went in the trash real fast. And quickly came a panic attack of what the actual heck I was going to do now.
> 
> But then I talked to Muse. And then we developed an alternative ending, and a new game plan for What Comes Next because although I achieved, writing-wise, what I wanted to achieve, I'm pretty sure y'all want to kill me right now, because even I recognize that that was an extremely unsatisfying ending. 
> 
> So, what comes next is officially going to be titled _After We Saw the Stars._ I'll have more details on my Tumblr, but I'm hoping to start posting some of it soon (and I mean like, really soon. Like, two weeks tops soon). There's...a hella lot of Yuri POV, and Chris might be resurfacing sooner than you expect, and Victor's first visit back to Pontiac is coming, and just a whole lot of more fun stuff.
> 
> And I'm really, really excited to share it with you all :)
> 
> ~~so please don't kill me before I can~~


End file.
